


The Universal Anomaly

by EG17



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, X men - Freeform, X-men - Freeform, X-men First Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:22:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EG17/pseuds/EG17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't hate Erik Lensherr. I don't precisely like him, either. I suppose I wonder about him, to say the least. Wonder how he got a dozen other mutants and I wrapped up in a vengeful civil war, a scientific breakthrough more drastic than the Manhattan Project, and a strip club. I suppose there was some sort of draw to him, a facade, a brooding past, a-perhaps it was just that he had a strong hold on my aluminum tie clip.  Bizarrely the only steady thing in my life at the moment is the constant threat of Shaw and the fact that only we could defeat him.</p><p>How did that so quickly become the least of my worries?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say that if you're expecting a nice love story and cute familial relationships this probably isn't the best way to go...I shoved in a lot of X-Men characters, and it's hard to focus on them all individually. As this is written from Charles' perspective, it's hard to delve into all of them individually. So I tried to characterize them through dialogue and little idiosyncrasies. 
> 
> I would've loved to go further with Erik and Charles and all of their relationships, but quite honestly, this is a Charles Xavier character study.

 

The explosion tears the breath out of my lungs. I'm thrown into the wall of the building and my cry for Raven gets caught in my throat, amongst other sounds. Erik, howling in pain. Hot concrete slamming into the ground inches from my head. The smoke blurs my vision and it takes half of my consciousness to grab onto his thoughts, the dust in my lungs stealing my voice away.

_Are you hurt?_

I know the answer before I ask the question. An annoyed groan from across the decimated room confirms my guess.

_Damn it, you idiot, find the kids, I'll hold him off._

I hope he can hear my snort from over there. 

When I try to shift out from beneath whatever's trapping me, I feel my leg catch on something else. For a brief moment, desperation seizes my chest. Everything is suddenly too close, too crippling. In my panic I swallow a mouthful of dust and try to stop from retching my dinner up.

Had that really only been an hour ago? Yes, it had been. For once, we had gotten the kids to behave long enough to sit and order at a nice restaurant down at the waterside, just an hour ago. And here I am now, the taste of it still on my lips, among blood and debris.

"Charles?" Raven screeches. I slam my forehead into the ground out of desperation, writhing beneath the chunk of wall pinning me to the ground. My efforts lead to a loud tearing sound. 

Wonderful. That would be the sound of a hole in the new shirt Raven recently bought me.

My heart pounds in my ears, nearly knocking me out, but instead a memory swells in my mind, an often enough occurence I've gotten used to. 

This bloody head of mine.

I share it with Raven right before it swallows me up.

_"Oh, God, you're not wearing that, are you?"_

_I jump away from the mirror and turn to face Raven, who'd apparently been watching me tug furiously at the collar of my white button-down._

_"As a matter of fact, I am. Not my choice, much more formal, you know if I could pick I'd wear-"_

_"Yeah, yeah. Some pretentious navy blue sweater vest. For God's sake, it's like your mother taught you nothing, Charles." She pauses, catching her mistake. "Let me see," she says hurriedly, shooting me an apologetic glance before rummaging though my closet._

_I don't mind. The jabs about my parentless childhood most often come out of my mouth, after all. After Mum had left, and Dad died, Raven and I had the run of the house. It was difficult, at first, to turn the social workers around and make them wonder why they ever stepped onto our front porch, but with practice, I became rather good. I smile at the thought of me reading books to her, and her teaching me how to cook well._

_"Don't wear that. Here." She hastily throws me a jacket and a black tie._

_"Wonderful. Now I can not only give my dissertation on genetics to the board members of the university on genetics, but also the wonders of advocating conformism using a black jacket and tie. Brilliant, Raven." I turn back to the mirror and smile at her. She scowls._

_"You're the one who bought it, you prick. Come on, it looks sharp on you. And wipe that stupid smirk off your face!" She walks out._

_"You're just jealous, dearest."_

_She storms back into the room. "Oh yeah, terribly." She adopts an abhorrent farcical British accent and swipes her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Hello, board members of the biggest prick school in the country, I've come here today to bore the hell out of you in order to get my PhD!" She coughs. "Page one of four hundred and ninety-two..."_

_I let my tie fall loose in my hands and shake with laughter. She breaks down too, and we're laughing at each other in the mirror. I turn to face her._

_"Raven, for the last time, it's four hundred and ninety-three pages." Her eyes roll once again, and she steps forward and gives me a firm hug._

_"You know I'm just stressed for you. You've been working so hard, and you're going to do great, alright? I know it-"_

_I pull away, barely suppressing a grin. "Raven! Oh, bless your heart, you're the mother I never wanted."_

_She punches me in the shoulder. "Shut the hell up." I give her a kiss on the forehead and she beams. "At least you look the part."_

Her shriek pierces the air and tears the memory out of my grasp. The warmth that had filled both of us twofold leaves quickly. I shove the fear away and determination fills its place.

"The boys need help, I came to find you, and Jesus, I didn't just teach you to cook, Charles! Damn it!" 

I internalize my laughter and spin sideways as sharply as I can. The rock doesn't give, but now my stomach bears the weight of it instead of my back. 

"Where are you?"

"Raven, Raven. Listen to me," I gasp. Sometimes it takes less energy to talk than it does to slip into someone's head. Not to mention they chastise me for it often, and I've promised to only do it in desperate situations. "I'm fine, go help the others. I'll be there in a moment. Please, I'm not going to die, but they might."

I sense that she's too far away. I don't need her to find me. 

I scrape my knees up the bottom of the rock, pulling them to my chest, hissing in agony through clenched teeth. My shins are now flush with its surface as crumbling rock stings my eyes. At the peak of my pain, I give a final grunt and heave with my legs and fling my arms up to my face. To my shins' delight, the rock slings over my head and smashes into the ground behind me. 

I roll forward, quick to rub the feeling back into my aching calves. 

She attacks me from the side.

"Oh my God, you're alright, you're okay," she murmurs. I throw my arm around her in a hug and pull the both of us to our feet. I leave my arm there for a moment, gathering my bearings. 

"You know, for a telepath, you're pretty easy to sneak up on."

"Oh, shove off, Rav-"

Raven gasps sharply, her eyebrows furrowing together. I whip around, my mind whirring. He could be back any second. Where is he? Do we need to duck? I flit through the minds of Sean, Alex, Hank, Moira, Erik...

"Your shirt. That shirt is five days old and you already ruined it."

I roll my eyes so sharply I feel them give back into my skull. Raven and I, we were hardly ever mistaken for actual siblings, except for when we both rolled our eyes. Very aggressively and done almost always with a sagging of the entire body.

"The shirt, the damn shirt, there's a mad mutant on the loose and you're concerned with my shirt-"

"We do this shit all the time, why do you make it sound like my concern for the shirt I bought you with my own money, not even yours, is annoying-"

"Raven, come on, we have to-"

A deafening explosion cuts me off, but this time it's further away. We lock eyes. She fumbles for my hand, and we run.

We skid around the corner of the last remaining wall of the restaurant in time to watch him throw Erik into a wall.

_He's made of stone and flesh, Erik, not metal._

_Then you give it a go, braniac._

I wince at his fury and step away from Raven.

"Hang back for a second. Make sure no one comes close."

She stays at my side, and calls over her shoulder at some imbeciles with a video camera. "Hey! Stay back, assholes, he's dangerous."

I shoot a sideways glance. "I could've done that. Get back."

"Oh, look at you," she sneers. "The mother I never wanted."

"Did your mother often tell you to shield yourself from a homicidal, cyclopean, tangible Mr. Hyde?"

I hear her scream before it passes her lips.

Something slams into my gut and I'm thrown backward. I'm about to smack into the ground when something jabs into my stomach, slowing my fall. I still slam into pavement and skid a few feet. The impact throws me into a sitting position and I'm immediately spitting out blood. I focus my vision on my metal belt buckle, the very thing to break my fall. I smile, as if Erik could see it from there.

_Hold your ground, I'll get him from the side._

The thought is the only bit of consciousness I can grab onto. I give myself one second of my head between my knees, and then whip back up, my left foot perched in front of my right, my hands steadied in front of my face. I'm fighting for consciousness, swallowing my pain. Erik can do this. One more minute and I can collapse and moan all I want. I must hold my ground. I try to take a deep breath, but a sharp pain in my side cuts my breath short. Black fog appears at the edges of my vision. 

There he is, charging. Closer. Must be fifteen feet. Ten. Eight feet. Accelerating.

Really, the brain does wonders when feeding on adrenaline. I make a mental note to learn how to take full advantages of the sensation later. 

I can almost hear the kids laughing at my ambivalence.

He's nearly upon me, as is the darkness clouding my vision, the pain in my side-

A large car flies through the air, slamming into his side, throwing him into a building. The building sways, but does not give, and he falls to the ground still.

My last thought before I fall is that I hope Erik hasn't killed him.

***

I snap my eyes open and try to focus on one of the several blurry faces in front of me.

"Oh, thank God, he's alright," someone says. Moira, I believe. Good, she's fine.

I try to choke out a few names, make sure they're here too, but my throat is too raw. My vision finally starts to focus, as Erik hands me a cup of water. I drink it and take a head count. Raven, Erik, Alex, Sean, Hank, Bobby, Kitty, Moira, and three others. 

"How you feeling, Charlie?" Annoyance boils at the pit of my stomach. 

"Just fine, Wolverine, thank you." I hope Logan catches the hint about my name. He sneers. Checkmate.

"Good to see you, Ororo, Scott," I say to the other two. Scott taps his sunglasses in greeting and Ororo smiles warmly. 

"I'd like to say it's been a while, but it really hasn't. There's been quite a lot of trouble lately," she says. Alex makes a face.

"Yeah, what's that all about? We haven't had much trouble in months, not after imprisoning Shaw, and now there's all this weird shit happening."

"Alex, please watch your-"

I'm cut off by Sean, who's clearly been itching to get at Alex since I told them to lay off each other before dinner last night. 

"Obviously it's the apocalypse." He starts to laugh and elbows Hank. A reluctant grin spreads onto Hank's face. Alex scowls, a blush working its way onto his face.

"Shut up, Sean, you-"

"Remember when you actually literally thought it was the apocalypse? Because there were all these freakish mutants, and Shaw told you it was the end of the world, and you believed him?" Sean doubles over.

"Alright, enough, the both of you."

"Yeah, quiet. Charles is on his death bed and all you can do is crack lame jokes, it's like you aren't even trying," Erik says.

I watch Kitty's eyes grow wide. "Charles is going to die?" She leaps up onto the bed and crawls up to me, her knee digging into my broken ribs. I grimace and try to hold in a groan. Tears form in her eyes, and I hate what I'm about to do.

I grip her shoulders and put on the sternest look I can. "Don't cry right now. It's not worth it. Stop." She bites her lip and nods. A few tears fall but then she's quiet. She's only eight, but we've agreed she needs to control her emotions in order to protect ourselves. It pains me.

As a reward, I pull her in close and stroke her hair. "Besides, Kitty," I say, shooting what I hope is a fuming look at Erik, "Erik was kidding. I'm not even close to dying, just hurt a little bit."

"Alright, what the hell was that thing?" Logan growls. "I got there after you were knocked out, but it took nearly all of us combined to contain it."

"He," I snap. Logan raises an eyebrow. "It's a he." 

"Right, sorry. Is that what we're calling it, then? Charles' Pet? Fluffy?"

"Logan," Ororo warns.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Hulk, actually, from the Avengers," Alex throws out there.

"He wasn't even green," Raven says. Kitty pulls her face out of my chest.

"I noticed he had green eyes."

"Well, you're delusional, because his eyes burned red with the blood of the eight year old girls he had recently killed," Sean says. I feel Kitty tense up next to me and try to break up the discussion, but the momentum of their ignorance is far stronger than my patience to stop it.

"Shut up, Sean. I was thinking Golem, you know, all rock-like and huge." Alex waves his hands, trying to capture the essence of the mutant with the air in front of him. 

Erik plays along, waving his hands arbitrarily. "Oh, yeah, I got it, yeah, like this." 

Alex senses derision and with an embarrassed smile mutters, "Shut up, Erik."

"Alex, my boy, there's only one thing out there as strong, as hard, and as mysteriously beautiful as whatever we witnessed yesterday, and perhaps we should name it after my d-"

"Christ, Sean, how old are you?" Raven yells.

"Charles," Scott leans forward, resting his hands on the edge of the bed frame and cutting off the area between Sean and Alex. I raise my eyebrows, grateful. The screaming is tiring me out, and in my lethargy I can barely stop myself from entering everyone's minds, and the sensation is maddening. "What do you think it-he-was?"

I hadn't given it much thought yet, but I decide not to clue everyone else in on this. "Well, obviously someone we've never encountered before, probably one of the physically strongest mutants out there." I puff out my cheeks and slowly exhale, trying to collect my thoughts and drain out everyone else's.

"So, one of Shaw's, or...?" Hank asks. I bite the inside of my lip, and look down at Kitty, who's grown restless. 

_Why don't you go find the dog and feed him?_

Kitty immediately beams at me, and my heart warms. While everyone else has gotten tired of it, my gift has never ceased to amaze Kitty, and the smile she gives me never ceases to make me beam back.

She scuttles off the bed and skips out of the room. Seconds later, she backtracks into the room. What is she doing? She closes the door, and looks back at me for approval. I let out a huff of laughter and nod. She licks her lips in concentration, and now everyone's watching her. She sprints as fast her her legs can carry her and runs straight through the door, leaving the wood and herself untainted. 

"Shit. How does she do that?" Sean lets out a low whistle.

"I'm sure she says the same when you show off, too," Hank says with a smile.

"What, she says 'shit'?"

"No, and neither should you, Sean," I say, exasperated at this point. The kids look at each other and the mutual agreement to leave the room is reached. They shuffle out, Sean slapping Alex in the butt as they walk through the door. 

I yell after them, "If I have to break up a fight between you two later, I swear-"

"Jesus, it's almost like he's psychic!" Sean shouts.

I slam my head back onto the pillow. "I don't have foresight!" I shout. "You little..." I sigh. 

Despite my love for them, I can't help but see them as daily evidence of my insanity. What is a twenty-four year old like me doing, watching after five mutant kids under the age of eighteen? I look over at Erik, who's chuckling at my frustration.

Six, I send to him, correcting my earlier calculation. I have six mutant children, and one of them is sitting in this room.

Erik raises his eyebrows, his smile widening as he tips his head in Raven's direction. She's too busy talking to Scott to notice.

I shake my head, trying to fight off my smirk. I can't give him that satisfaction.

"Should I leave the room, too?" he asks. 

"Cheeky bastard," I mutter.

"Pretentious prick," he says. I turn my head to see if he's serious. He's no longer smiling, and I can't ignore the challenge.

"Useless spoon-bender."

"Nosy narcissist."

"Atrocious alliterationist."

"Word...maker-upper."

"Ouch, that emotional wound will keep me in this bed for the next week."

He smiles again, and we laugh longer than we should, longer than I thought I could with the pain in my side. "Sorry, Charlie."

All I can do is shake my head and hold my side. Erik reaches over and puts a gentle arm on my shoulder. He gives me a small smile, his way of saying goodbye, and slinks out of the room before anyone else even notices.

I'm too tired to engage in any further conversation. I push past my guilt and quickly tap the notion of leaving into Scott's mind. Within minutes, everyone but Moira has left the room. 

I couldn't help myself, couldn't push her away, too. The way she carries herself, with care and purpose, causes a warmth to spread in my chest. Everyone else is so tense, but Moira...Moira's presence means I can relax all I want. She takes small, timid steps over to the bed, the light catching her just right. I take her hand as soon as she's near enough, and color flushes her cheeks.

"Do I really embarrass you that much, dear?"

She fervently shakes her head. "No, no, I just..." She nods herself into focus. "I was really worried about you." I kiss her hand, and she sits on the bed, careful not to lean into my side.

"I'm not that fragile, lovely, I've got abs of steel," I say with a chuckle. She bursts into relieved laughter she seems to have been holding in for too long, and finally relaxes. 

Through her laughter, she chokes, "I've heard differently from Erik."

"What-oh for God's sake, he doesn't even go to the gym, let alone see me with a shirt off. I'm quite modest, as you must already know."

Moira shakes her head in another fit of contagious laughter. The pain quickly ebbs away as she leans in. I sense her heart pounding as she draws closer, and I place my hand on her cheek and close my eyes as our lips touch. 

Much like Moira herself, her phsyical intimacy is sweet and simple. I almost chastise myself for thinking so, but as she pulls away for breath and smiles at me, I realize she is just that-simply beautiful.

"You are too lovely for words, Moira," I say. She seems at a loss for words, and I pull her back in, onto the bed, next to me. Our kissing turns to me resting my chin on her deep brown hair and her ear pressed to my chest. 

"Hear anything interesting?" 

She laughs. "I hear the sound of a self-aware genius ruining a nice moment."

In a few minutes, she slowly sits up, pulling the hair stuck to her face out of her eyes. I press my hand into the small of her back as her heartbeat slows. She looks away, clearly disappointed, and opens her mouth to say something. She shuts it quickly and shakes her head.

My brain screams in protest as I force myself not to pry. No. Moira is entitled to her own thoughts, independent of my own. I know this. I must follow through on my promise.

"I'll let you get some rest, Charles," she says, her words forming around a sigh. 

In my efforts to stay out of everyone's heads, I've gotten rather good at reading body language. Unfortunately, like telepathy, it comes with its burdens. She keeps her back to me until she reaches the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Thinking. Debating. Internal monologue. Grips the doorknob tightly.

Moira spins on her feet to face me, her lips pressed into a thin line. She opens her mouth, snaps it shut, then mutters a quick, "Bye, Charles." 

I expect her to exit, but she lingers a split second, and that's when I snap.

_Look at him, even now, smug, disinterested, still..._

_Still handsome. What an asshole. What a hot, genius, exceptional man, and doesn't he freaking know it. Leave, just leave now, Moira, before he plays with you again. Before you charge back over to the bed and smack that goddamned smirk off his stupid face or worse, kiss him again._

I wish I hadn't done that. Surprise.

She slams the door on the way out, and I'm left feeling like the genius asshole I am, and don't I know it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Is he sleeping, unconscious, or is he hibernating or something?" Raven asks, disgust seeping into her voice. I bite my lip and inhale deeply, staring at the ceiling. Between the kids' hyperactivity and the ache in my ribs, there's enough weariness and annoyance in my bones to make me want to sleep for days. 

"Is he hurt, I think, is the important question, Raven," I say as evenly as possible. She shoots me a sideways glance and rolls her eyes.

Ms. Jean Grey steps out from behind a piece of equipment and gives me a quick smile. I muster a slight nod, grateful that someone with more experience than Logan and the kids combined can offer is here to answer questions.

"He's ignoring us, Raven, that's what he's doing. And recharging. It seems that the blow from Mr. Lehnsherr was enough to render him unconsious for a while, but I caught him walking around in the cell for a bit, tearing out the IV tubes. He then laid down and he's been like this since."

Everyone stares at him for a moment, callously, as if they were at a zoo.  I try to hide my contempt. 

I feel a stare resting heavily on my back. I turn my head slightly, enough to catch Erik's dark eyes on me. I feel my eyebrows twitch together and he nods at me. I look at the others, but once again, Logan and the children are trying to name him, and Ororo, Scott, and Jean are making small talk in the corner of the broad, white, penitentiary.

Still. I turn forward.

I can almost hear his mind calling my name. Heat touches the edges of my ears. I attribute it to my frustration as I fight the urge. I don't understand him like I understand everyone else; one moment he's growling at me to stay out of his head, and the next he's egging me on.

I glance over at him again, and this time he smirks.

_What, you blasted idiot?!_

_You seem a bit tense._

I try to fight the scowl off of my face. People who don't know me must think I'm insane, smiling and frowning when there's no one around talking to me.

_Of course I'm a bit tense, they've got one of us in a cell. I wasn't even aware we had one._

I hear his deep chuckle and I feel my heat in my face again. I shake my head, and don't try to figure out what he's thinking. I clear my throat and try to shake his consciousness from my mind.

"Jean?"

"Oh, right, sorry, Charles. Were you saying something?" 

She's disinterested. I sigh. Everyone else had gotten here before me. I'd fallen asleep for two hours after Moira had left, and tapped into Alex's head to make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid, and found everyone here. 

My own house, and I had no idea we had a holding room for prisoners. I make a mental note to reprimand Jean and Scott later. 

"I was wondering if you found anything else out about him." 

She gestures over to the plethora of computer screens off to the side and takes a seat, talking before I'd even crossed the room. Everything echoes loudly in the room, and everyone's loud laughter reverberates into my skull. I take slow, easy steps, trying not to pass out again. But soon, I'm picking up everything. Sean's laugh, Kitty's squeal as Hank picks her up. Logan punching Alex in the arm. Raven's verbal disapproval of the inappropriate joke the two of them had just shared.

But it's my awareness of my own weakness that sends a surge of anger through me, and throws me over the edge. I slowly start to kneel down, trying to not cause a big scene, when I feel a large hand on my lower back, and another gripping my arm.

Whether it's newfound strength or flaming embarrassment that forces me to stand, I find myself on my feet soon enough, and stagger over to where Jean is, already halfway through her explanation of the new mutant. 

I feel light-headed and can't focus. I dig  my fingernails into my aching side and try not to gag because of the pain. Thankfully, it helps me focus. I'm able to catch up quickly and scan over the information faster than she relays it back to me.

"The first thing that stands out is his abnormal bone structure," she says. Right. Already discovered that when he plowed headfirst into my stomach. "It's five times larger than that of a normal human's."

Erik lets out a low whistle. I jump. He's standing closer than I thought. My heart continues to pound, and I spot another chair. I drop into it with a lack of grace so impressive that Erik would have laughed at it in any other occasion, but he was too enraptured with Jean's discourse on the mutant to notice. Unless...is that a smirk playing on his face?

I've been staring too long. Focusing on her voice, but not necessarily listening to it, I find myself quickly relaxing and absorbing everything on the screens. Most of the log is incomplete. I shoot a look over to the sleeping figure in the corner. Most of it would be until he talked. 

But there are fair estimations. Age: twenty-five. Acquisition of power: five years ago. Ability: exceptional strength.

"Is that his brain?" Erik suddenly points to one of the screens. Jean nods. "Slightly disproportional to the rest of him, isn't it?" 

She laughs. "With the way you described him bumbling around and slamming into things yesterday, Erik, I'd think you would've already had that figured out." 

"Yeah. Might've figured it out, if this idiot over here had any idea what he was doing in the field yesterday."

I pretend I don't see him laughing in my direction and slink lower in the chair. 

A moment of terror seizes me when I feel myself beginning to fall. There's not a doubt in my mind that Erik catches the look on  my face, and as he doubles over in preemptive laughter and stretches forward to offer his incompetent and ill-timed assistance, a large bang sounds through the room, followed shortly by a few screams and a quiet "oh, shit."

I quickly hop to my feet and shake off my embarrassment.This time it takes me moments to cross the room and find the man drawn to his full height, one of his fists slammed against the wall. I set myself between the glass wall and the children and set my jaw. I try not to cross my arms and exude both caution and care. For the first time in five minutes, I don't feel dark eyes boring into the back of my skull, and I finally have full composure as I stare at the man in front of me.  The mutant catches my eyes and something nags at the back of my mind, in place of Erik's heavy gaze, but I quickly shake it off. I don't want to worry anyone else in the room, or let my guard down. He is not in control; we are. I am.

"Who are you?" Alex sneers with a condescending nod. 

"Shut up, you dumbass," Sean snickers.

I don't even grace them with a glare. "Are you alright?" 

He grunts and draws himself to full height, dragging everyone's gaze up to the ceiling, where his black beady eyes glare down at all of us. He doesn't seem too eager to answer my question, or in his convalescence can't understand what I'm saying. I turn to meet Jean's gaze, and she tilts her head in question. I take that as a go ahead. I'm probably wrong, but I'm too curious to abide by my promises. Besides, I never explicitly promised Jean I wouldn't invade, just the children and Erik. And I'm not even really invading, just-

"What is it, Charles?"

I shake my head at her. _Concussion?_

_No, he's perfectly fine, besides a few cracked rib-_

"How about you, Charlie, how've you been?" 

His gravelly voice reverberates around his cage. The something at the back of my mind starts to become a tangible thought and pounds at the edge of my mind, but again I ignore it, annoyed with it. 

Only one person has ever called me Charlie. 

I open my mouth to speak, then clamp it shut. I wait until I can form a sentence without stuttering or confusing too many ideas at once. Tension emanates from everyone. I try to ignore it.

"I don't believe we've met before, Mr., ah...?" I offer. He grins with about four teeth and I swallow a grimace.

"Cain. Cain, Charlie, how could you forget?"

Someone bursts with nervous laughter, probably because I don't let anyone get away with calling me Charlie without some sort of retribution. I feel like laughing myself, but mostly at the idea trying to force its way into consciousness. Impossible. A lump forms in my throat.

I've let too much time pass between his question and my answer. A chink in my armor. Weakness. Damn. Quick, ask him why he was there, ask him...

"F-first, or last? Name, I mean," I splutter. 

His laugh corroborates my worst fears, and my stomach sinks at the sound of it. Anxiety spills through me, a specific anxiety I haven't felt in years, not since I was living with my-

"Stepbrother Cain. Don't pretend you don't remember me, I see it in your eyes, Charles Xavier. I smell your fear. It's too familiar not to pass up." 

My next words get stuck in my throat, and I feel like retching them up. 

"S-stepbrother?" Raven spits. "There's no way you could possibly...Charles, come on. Charles!"

For the thousandth time today, I'm swaying on my feet, overrun with memories, nightmares, my past.

My drunken stepfather, staggering his way home, shoving past my mother, charging up the smooth wooden steps of this very house to my room, knuckles tight-

My mind quickly flits to the sting of tears in my eyes, the pain as I struggle to keep them down, no, I will not give him the satisfaction, and he leaves, struggles into Cain's room...

Cain, not him, it's not his fault he's a mutant, not a freak, but his father beats him too, harder than he had beaten me. Cain charges into my room, tumbles on top of me, screams at me to reveal my power to his father, but I can't bring myself to, too afraid, too selfish to do anything but hole up in my room and study, study as to why, why are we like this. Searching as to what mutants have done to deserve such horror...

My stepbrother, who could never sit in a room and study his way out of our hellhole of a situation. Cain, who ran away at eighteen as I turned ten and wrote my first math theorem. As mother ran from home, my stepfather close on her heels. The year I met Raven. I can still feel the jealously and pain in his piercing eyes. 

Cain Marko, the boy my mind tried so desperately to forget...

The next time I swallow, I feel a knife slip down my throat and land heavy in the pit in my stomach. 

All I manage, the only intelligible thought to form in the mess my mind has become, the only pathetic atonement I can grasp onto-

"I'm so sorry," I gasp. I run.

I'm charging down the hallway, flying up the steps, grasping desperately to the railing I beg Sean and Alex not to slide down every day, tripping over my own feet, my body failing me, even my own steady mind-

I slam into the door to my bedroom before I manage to open it. I fumble for the doorknob and hear footsteps behind me. His presence is too strong for me to ignore anymore. I breathe heavily, but his breath is much quieter than mine. 

Erik, he runs. He's a runner. I try to hold onto that, listen to the rhythm of him as he watches me. I clench the doorknob and the door creaks open. I tell myself to go in, but my feet disobey. 

I turn and face him, and stop him before he can say anything.

"I was wrong, Erik," I choke. The image of Cain, trembling in the shadow of someone much weaker than himself, curled up and whimpering on his floor, flits through my mind. "There..." I slow my breaths, shut my eyes, contain my anxiety. It takes me but a moment. 

"There's always been a prison in this house, and it's right across the hall."

Thank God Erik's broad frame blocks the door from my view. The sight of it would ruin me as it did when I was a child. And as I did then, I do now-I hide.

Before I open my eyes again, before a word can form on his pale lips, I am through the doorframe, shut away entirely.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Erik runs, I hide. Rather funny how that works, when his childhood consisted of familial Jewish dispositions during the Holocaust and mine of a slow, drunken father. I want to laugh at the ghoulish irony, but the reality of it all makes my stomach twist. 

"You're more afraid of yourself than you are of him."

I whip around and leap off of my bed, my quick breaths coming back as soon as I had calmed them. 

"How'd you-"

Erik taps the doorknob and a metal ting rings through the silence. 

"It's not easy to sneak up on a telepath, you know," I splutter, remembering Raven's words. A head of blonde hair bobs behind Erik.

"No, it's not." She starts into my room, then realizes both her and Erik can't fit through the doorframe. He steps aside quickly and gestures for her to pass by. With a sheepish grin-is she blushing?-she slips past him and hurries over to me. 

Her arms slide naturally into mine and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to crush her against my chest and bury myself in her. I press my lips to her cheek and shut my eyes as she soothes me, her familiar smell filling the looming holes in my memory.

"Charles," she gasps. I let her go, and she reaches for my hand.

_Stop it. I'm pitying myself far too much._

"Charles," she admonishes. "You...you never told me about...it's okay, it's fine, but tell us about it, we can..."

I don't know what makes me say it, perhaps his suffocating gaze, but I blurt, "Sorry, Raven, Erik and I were just in the middle of something. Can we do this later?"

She looks hurt. 

"No girls allowed," I joke weakly. I watch feebly as Raven's hurt shifts to contempt. She leaves quickly, shoving past Erik this time, and I hear a sob seize in her throat. She stops just outside the door and whips around.

"Sorry," she spits. "How stupid of me to ask. You...you could've been killed, or...or paralyzed, or something...all you can do is shove me away. Asshole," she hisses, then sweeps down the hallway without another glance. Erik turns to watch her go, and as a brief distraction I give him a good look. Oddly enough, something I hadn't done yet.

It's been about a month since I'd pulled him from those algid waters on the first night I hunted for Shaw. A month in which we found the kids together, fell quickly in love with them, Erik in his own way, and trained, pushed our powers to the brink, faced off a few wayward mutants, and survived to become stronger. And yet, I hadn't gotten a good look at the mystery that is Erik Lehnsherr. I still can't quite see him, as if we're still stuck back in those murky waters we were a month ago. 

Everything about him screams brooding, gloomy Mr. Tough Guy bad boy. His shoulders tense as Raven's door slams, and I watch the way his dark leather jacket, the slightest bit too small, stretches across his broad shoulders, his muscles rippling against the fabric.

He turns back to me, his gaze meets mine. I allow myself a second longer and look for the color of his eyes. 

"OCA2," I mutter. He raises his eyebrows and crosses the room in two graceful strides, hesitantly sitting in the chair across from the bed. I drop down onto the covers, trying not to face him too directly. I don't feel threatened by him, but I don't want him to feel threatened by me.

I almost laugh at the thought. Erik, afraid of me? But one look into his eyes, and I can tell he's wary of me. 

"I'm not going to..." I wave my arms around my head stupidly, letting out a hollow laugh. 

"What's ACO2?" he says, looking at everything in the room but me. My cheeks flush with heat. I'd never been embarrassed about my fortune before, but with Erik's modest presence and his acrimonious disposition toward anything even remotely lavish in the household has made me feel almost guilty about it all.

I want to remind him that I must hate this house more than him, but the look in his eyes keeps me quiet.

"OCA2. Blue eyes. It's a mutation that originated near the Black Sea during the Neolithic Revolution." 

He finally meets my gaze, a derisive smirk working its way onto his face. 

"It's funny, that's all," I snap, "that something as trivial as blue eyes falls into the same category as metal-bending, but now that I think about it, perhaps it's not funny at all, if they can both belong to such a callous fool."

Erik picks up an ivory Buddha statue from off the nightstand and blows the dust off of it, the smirk still on his face. "You're upset," he says. Upset?

"Oh, wonderful," I sneer. "I've found another telepath!"

He laughs now. Laughs. I swallow my anger the best I can and fight to keep my voice steady.

"Feel free to look around all you want." I stand up and walk unsteadily to the door, my ribs still aching. 

"Is this from India?"

I turn back. He's waving the Buddha in the air. I almost want him to drop it, to smash something of so little sentimental value to me it's painful. But it flusters me. "I...yeah, I reckon it is. Dad..." I swallow. "My father probably brought it home from one of his business trips." 

Erik nods, as if in approval. Anger flares in me again, and now I want him to put it down, to leave and not touch another thing in this house, my house. My prison.

I shove the thought out quickly.

"How to you expect the kids to let go of their abusive and neglected pasts in order to better themselves if their mentor can hardly do it himself?" 

I feel my eyebrows furrow together. Erik's never up to talking.

"You feeling alright, mate?"

It's his turn to laugh bitterly. "Right, sorry. I forgot my role." He slams the Buddha onto the nightstand and stands up as I wince. My heart starts to pound as I try to shove his own rage out of my mind. I watch as his hands twitch.

Something must have crossed my face. He relaxes his shoulders and an almost apologetic look quivers on his face. "I'm not just the brooding security guard, Charles. I want what you want, alright? Learn to control our powers more, find Shaw, kill..." 

I frown.

"Capture...capture Shaw, and we'll..." I'm not buying any of this. I make sure to show this clearly in my expression. He sighs.

"What do you want me to say?" He raises his voice a few pitches, mocking. "We'll befriend all mutants and mutants, and we'll all love each other equally and live in a harmonious society! Oh, I know."

I rip open the door and storm out.

"We'll start a school! Charles Xavier's school of freakish-no, what do you call it...gifted! Charles Xavier's school for gifted mutants and humans alike! On weekends we have campfires!"

I'm so infuriated as I stalk down the stairs that I nearly slam into Alex.

"Whoa, sorry," he says, quickly slamming against the railing so I can pass.

"Pardon me," I mutter, continuing down. Suddenly I stop, and spin around. He's still standing there, looking at me pitifully. I hate pity. But I don't let that deter me.

"You played baseball, right?" 

He grins at the thought, and a shred of happiness spreads through me. "Yeah," he says wistfully. "Yeah, I used to. Before, um. Before this." The smile slowly fades.

Before it completely goes, I lunge forward, and grab his wrist. He rears back, and I try to stop being so spastic. 

"Would you like to go play catch with me? It's a nice day outside." 

Amused consternation crosses his face, but his smile breaks through it. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Charles." 

I feel relieved. I pretend I don't notice Erik looming in the back of the hallway.

Together we descend into the neglected abyss of my basement, hacking up dust within moments. After staggering down a flight of stairs, we reach the bottom and I fumble for the light. I pull on the chain and the light blinds us both. 

"Sorry, this is the only place I can think of housing any form of sports equipment." 

I look back at him, but he's looking around. "Jesus, you've got a lot of shit. Crap. Uh, junk." 

I laugh. He shoots me an awkward smile.

"Right. Well, my father was atrocious when it came to organizing. I didn't really anticipate rummaging this much, but if you'd rather-"

"Think fast." Before I can finish my sentence Alex chucks a baseball glove at my head. Instinctively, I duck, and it slams into the wall behind me, a cloud of dust following in its wake. He chuckles good-naturedly. 

I laugh, too, and it's a bit less forced then last time. 

"Come on," I say, and we head back up the stairs, our feet finding their way a bit easier than the way down.

I walk over to the front door and slightly ceremoniously whip it open. 

It's pouring outside.

I look at Alex, who's biting his lip and clearly trying not to laugh at my ignorance. 

"Did you...when did it start raining?"

Alex just shakes his head and stares at the ceiling, willing himself harder every second not to crack up. I give up and laugh for him, shutting the door. He bursts into laughter. 

"Why didn't you say anything when I asked?"

He stops laughing, but still grins at me. "I don't know, you looked really excited, who am I to be the dick to ruin that?"

I groan inwardly and rub my hand across my face. 

"Uh, is there anything else you want to do?" he tries. 

A renewed likeness for Alex spreads through me. 

"How old are you?" 

"Eighteen," he says. I let that settle in for a moment as we listen to the rain pound against the house. Eighteen, already been to prison for no other reason than existing. Wonderful. I shake the thought off.

"Right." I nod slowly. He fails to suppress another grin.

"Would you like to-"

"Absolutely."

"And they say I'm telepathic."

Alex beams. "I'm an eighteen year old boy, there's not much else I'm interested in."

Within minutes, Alex is seated behind the wheel of my father's old yet impeccable Mustang. In complete awe, he slides his hand carefully along the side of the car, and leans back into the suede seats. His smile is contagious, and I'm beaming at him.

"I haven't put it to much use over the years. I prefer the much more inconspicuous Lexus, over there," I say, nodding to the blue car in the corner of the large garage.

Alex fake gags. "You drive that piece of shit when this baby is right here?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, well...it's a-"

"No, no, don't tell me." He closes his eyes, like it's an art form, and gently turns the key. The engine purrs to life. He taps the pedal, and it roars beautifully. A smirk breaks his placid expression. "Late 50s...'56? '57?"

I let out a low whistle. "'58. Not bad."

"My dad, he was a mechanic. Loved his cars more than he loved...more than he loved anything else in the world." His happiness falters for a moment.

"Alex?"

"Fuck it."

The roar of the car barely masks Alex's howl of euphoria as we skid out of the garage, his foot pulsing the gas assiduously. 

After multiple harrowing turns and illegal maneuvers, we're back in the garage. I peel my white-knuckled fingers out of the seat and clamber stiffly out of the car. I straighten my shirt and pat down my hair, trying to buy myself a few seconds.

"Well, old man?" Alex says. I haven't seen him smile this much in weeks. I give him the most convincing, non-pussy smile I can muster.

"Fine," I choke. He laughs at me. "I've never been much of a...a fast vehicle person," I add defensively. He rolls his eyes. 

"It was fine. I gun up a '58 'stang to 81 on the parkway and you think it was fine. Jesus, I'm taking Sean next time."

He turns to leave, then half-pauses. "Thanks, Charles," he says quickly, then shoves the door to the house open and trips through. 

"Alex?" I call. 

"Yeah?" He bends over to take off his shoes, his back half to me. 

"I was kidding. That was...well, that was brilliant. And for the record, I'm twenty-four, not forty. I know a good time when I have one."

I think I catch one final smile as he moves behind the door and disappears.

The breath I've been desperate to catch since Cain knocked it out of me two days ago finally comes back, and I suck it in with a smile. I silently vow to myself to do something with all of the kids. 

"Brilliant," I mutter, mostly to the car. I rap my knuckles on the hood. 

I suppose these things don't have to be such horrible reminders, once they get their own story. 

***

"Charles, there's a fine line between unity and insanity. It's just not safe," Jean sighs. 

I expected this. I clear my throat and start on my prepared response, only to be interrupted by Raven.

"I'm with Charles on this one. He's..." Raven looks at me for approval. I shrug.

"He's a mutant, like us. Just a person. If something goes wrong, there's a direct IV to his veins that can sedate him within seconds, right? Just let him."

"Yeah, yeah," Sean starts. "Worst comes to worst, Charles could take him, just like he did before."

"Thank you, Sean," I say a little too loudly. I wink as reproachfully as possible. 

He frowns somewhat facetiously. "I'm being serious."

"Right, well, so am I." Before she can protest, I shoulder past Jean and open the doors to Cain's room. I step forward and her protests fade from the room to an intercom in the corner of the cell. 

"Darling, there's no use now, I'm already in here. Would you please give us a few minutes?" I lick my lips in frustration and turn back to Cain, who's laughing quietly.

Deep breath. In. Out. 

I extend my hand. "How've you been, my friend?"

He observes my hand passively. 

Long pause.

"Busy."

I nod. "Yeah, so have we, erm..." I suddenly find it hard to breathe. Something tightens in on my stomach, and I try to will it away, it's my own brother, for Christ's sake, I've dealt with him before. It digs in sharp into my stomach, but it feels too real. 

Not my anxiety, but my belt buckle, inexplicably tightening around my waist, cutting off my train of thought. I snap my head to the side and catch his blank stare. The pressure releases, and I try to nonchalantly suck in air.

_What could you possibly want? I'm in the middle of something._

_Yes, something stupid, Charles. Pleasantries aren't going to get you anywhere with him. Be more direct. Pry into his mind. Find out about Shaw._

_I'm getting there._

_Well, hurry up, before you're beaten to a pulp._

_Call me mad, but I think I might know him a bit better than you, Lehnsherr._

_Call me ignorant, but with the way you tense up at the sight of a porn magazine from your adolescence, I wouldn't put it past him to knock you on your ass for no reason other than you're in his way._

I feel myself flush from head to toe and grit my teeth. "What brings you here, Cain?" I hiss. He takes my anger to be directed at him, and his eyes narrow.

_You fucking fool. Now he's angry._

_Good, maybe he'll slip up._

_Slip up?! Were we not just discussing that his idea of a slip up would be to charge me?_

Erik manages to kick me out for a second, and I'm too furious to go back in.

"A message," he says, yawning. He taps the the side of the cell disinterestedly. 

"A message...and the ambush yesterday...?"

"For fun." He gives me a rotten smile. I try not to grimace but his smile widens and I know I've sneered at him. Cain steps forward, but I was prepared for this, and hold my ground, rocking back on my heels only slightly.

"You said something about a message?" I bite down on my lips to stop them from visibly trembling. 

"I did." He's waiting for something. I don't need to invade to know what he's waiting for. I'd already resigned to the idea that I wouldn't. 

"What was this message, Cain? We might be able to negotiate acquittal if you cooperate."

"From what I've heard, little friend, I don't need to tell you nothing." 

A click of his teeth. A tick of the clock. The pounding of my brain on the sides of my temples, begging to be let free. I grit my teeth and curl my fists.

"Oh?" he leers, malice stinging at the edge of his words. "You couldn't possibly be mad if I were to keep a secret from you, eh? I thought we didn't mind secrets, Charlie."

My throat dries.

"Whatever. I'm not here to piss all over our tight relationship, or to play games with you. I'm here to show you a glimpse of what you're all in for." For the first time during our discussion he looks out through the cell and glares at everyone in the room. I follow his stare.

The kids quickly drop their gazes, and Jean's hand remains frozen on the button to launch the sedative into Cain's bloodstream. 

Erik looks like he's on the verge of laughing.

I sense Cain's turned back to me, his message almost complete. I sense something else, too, but I refuse to pry. 

"Shaw says you can either join his forces or side with the humans," he says.

"We are humans," I sigh. My latest joke with the kids is that I should make bumper stickers out of that quote. No one seems to believe it to be true. "I suppose neutrality isn't an option?"

"Neutrality was never an option."

I swallow. 

"I also suppose you've been playing my game for the past ten minutes?"

"As the boss requested."

I take a few slow steps back, his excitement radiating so heavily off of him it's all I can do not to become overwhelmed.

"Erm, right. I don't s'pose one headbutt is enough retribution for a childhood worth of anger you have toward me?"

Cain strokes his chin playfully. "No...no, I s'pose it isn't, Xavier."

"Damn."

It's a shame I had to be in the path of destruction. I would've loved to have seen his powers work from an outside perspective, his acceleration working in concise tandem with his manipulation of inertia. No doubt subconsciously, Cain never had much of a mind for phsyics...

"Charles!" someone screams as he quickly rips the IV tube out of his arm and rears back. 

I'd strategically placed myself in front of the door as I'd walked into the room, but during our conversation I'd nervously shifted a bit too far from the door. I quickly start to calculate the distance between Cain and the approximate speed at which he's going and the estimated guess at how many seconds until my precious brain is scattered on the wall behind me when I'm pummeled from the side.

Erik has tackled me into the ground in lieu of my stepbrother slamming full-force into me. I remind myself not to ask Jean to open doors for me again, in case a maniacal Erik is standing behind it, waiting to pin me to the ground.

I realize he's actually saved my life, but in my embarrassment and anger I can't bring myself to be grateful.

Our bodies cascading over one another, we slam into the back of the cell. He ends up on top of me, and a brief moment passes in which everything falls still. The breath between us becomes hot and quick as our eyes search each other. I try to read him, try to decide if his train of thought is anything like mine. The oxygen seems to be fading from the room, I'm having trouble holding onto any single concept for longer than mere seconds, except for one...

His eyes. The feel of him on top of me, the strange sense of security I feel with him, despite our current situation...

Realization hits. I let out an untelligible cry, and our moment of peace comes crashing down. "Erik, get the hell off!" His weight shifts from comforting to unbearable as it presses down on my newly healed ribs. I thrash and wait for him to roll off of me, but instead, he pins my wrists to the ground and makes to get up.

"No-no, what the bloody hell d'you think you're-"

"Sorry," he says breathlessly, tearing his gaze from mine with great reluctance. He's halfway to standing, and I see he's going to take Cain on himself. I whip my head about the room and try to ignore the throbbing in my torso. 

Cain, having missed his target, slammed into the opposite wall. He draws himself up to full height, slowly. But I understand; he's slow to start but once he reaches his peak he's impossible to stop. He's already standing. We've missed our chance.

"Erik," I plead. "Erik, wait until he charges, we'll get him after he falls." With what I hope is a suppressed moan, I drag myself to my feet. 

Erik laughs mirthlessly as Cain places his massive paw on the wall behind him to gain extra momentum. "That's cute. Did you and Cain take defensive driving lessons together, too?" He slowly opens his palms and extends them forward, closing his eyes.

"Erik, this is not a matter of pride, this is a matter of your life! Listen to me!" 

He shakes me off. How could he be such an imbecile?

As Cain bursts forward, I realize in horror Erik has failed to notice the very detail that will now become his downfall. The words get caught in my throat, lost behind Cain's roar.

This cell was designed without a scrap of metal in it.

Designed with the potential to hold someone much more dangerous and far more unstable than Cain himself. 

Fury rips through me, disjointed fear, aimed at a variety of disunified and broken individuals too busy wallowing in the horrors of their past to realize that we are human, too.

Time slows as I throw myself at Erik, a feral yell tearing out of my throat. He turns to me, his eyes placid with calm, and in the moment my feet leave the ground, I realize he understands, and all it took was for me to tackle him.

In one fell swoop, he whips his left hand behind him, jamming the aluminum switch into the wall, I smash into him, and we skid through the newly opened door in unison. On impact with the floor, this time, we break apart and roll a few feet. I hear the door slam shut behind us and frenetic pounding as Cain is imprisoned once again.

Immediately, the room is abuzz. Raven's blonde hair is tickling the nape of my neck within seconds, she's taking my chin in her hands and turning my head to face her. 

"Unghh, Raven," I moan, and she gives me a few inches of space. I press my cheek into the cold floor and welcome the sensation. I feel as if I could sleep for a week. 

The room is too filled with emotions. Worry, anger, fear, I-told-you-so. They threaten to consume me, ruin me, tear at me from the inside out, none of them my own, in control of me instead of the other way around...pity, sorrow... 

Is that pride? 

I'm lifted to my weary feet by the collar of my button-down shirt. 

"See what happens when we work togethe-"

Without thinking, I slug Erik across the face. I almost regret it.

"Charles!" Ororo admonishes. I wipe my hand across my face and try to slow my breaths. Erik slowly turns back around almost immediately, unfazed, years of abuse lining his broken grin. My breath catches in my ribs, my chest, and I see what I've done. 

"Erik," I gasp. I try to stomach my tears. Why the bloody hell do I deserve to cry? "I'm so, so sorry, are you alright?"

He just claps me on the shoulder. "Nasty bloodline you've got there, Charles. Try not to become a monarch, would you?"

His hand lingers a moment longer than his gaze.

I remain speechless as he opens the door with a twist of his palm and strides out, ignoring Jean's request that he visit the infirmary. 

With Erik gone, everyone slowly turns to look at me with disgust. My head starts to pound with the rhythm of Cain's fists against the wall. I know they expect an explanation, but I don't have one. I'm desperately tempted to tap into their minds, force them to empathize, to slip those looks of disapproval off their faces. 

I look away from Scott and Jean and look at Sean. I try not to snort as I realize he's more thrilled with our fight with Cain than the fact I had unjustifiably punched Erik in the face. Teenagers do have their own sort of charm about them, I suppose.

I start to form an apology as Jean, flustered, turns back to subdue Cain, exchanging furious whispers with Scott. The apology easily slips out of my mind as I watch Jean open the door again and Scott unceremoniously stab Cain in the neck with a tranquilizer. 

I'm vaguely aware that Raven is trying to talk to me, but for the second time today, I brush her off and cross the room to the door. 

I feel the sneer in the back of my throat and do nothing to swallow it.

"The next time you design a prison for one of my friends, maybe you should double check that he can't open the doors with the flick of his wrist."

I don't stay to see the looks on their faces. The embarrassment and shame fills the room quicker than I could turn around.

Good.

I stalk down the hall and whip around the corner, slamming into Erik.

"Jesus-what are you doing?" I ask, clutching my chest. He stands there, looking down at me. I gulp. 

"Erm, we've really got to stop doing that, eh?"

He furrows his eyebrows together. I exhale loudly. A man of few words and he won't even let me into his head so as to know what he's feeling.

"You chastise me for filling up my days with the need for revenge yet you can't seem to stay away from it yourself."

I see where this is going. I try not to roll my eyes and go for something Erik seems to like.

"Did they call you Dr. Lehnsherr, the brilliant psychiatrist, back in the day?" I joke, smiling too widely. I'm desperately trying to come up with a proper apology, to make him laugh, illicit some emotion, anything.

He looks thoughtful. "They actually called me prisoner 241782, back in the day."

It takes the rest of my energy not to vomit the last of my self-respect onto his slick leather jacket. But he bursts into laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're right. Let's just forget it. I've already forgotten." My confusion mixes with sick relief.

"What were we even talking about?" Erik goes on, his voice filled with forced happiness. "Is that one of your mind tricks, erasing people's memories? Not bad, Xavier." He's trying far too hard.

"Erik-" I start.

He spins around and gestures for me to follow him. My feet gain a mind of their own and reluctantly follow Erik's. 

"Erik, please," I beg. He walks faster.

Erik.

He stops, and I smack into his back, flames racing up my spine. 

"Oh, god, sorry, no, I wasn't trying to, that was so stupid-"

"No, I did that on purpose, I couldn't resist doing it one more time." He looks at me and presses his lips together, laughing inwardly. I grin back reluctantly. "You blush a lot, you know that?" 

I nod quickly. "My mum always told me that, when we were at her work parties and I could barely talk to anyone." Erik looks taken aback, as if he's expecting me to have a panic attack.

I realize, miserably, that he is. I drop my gaze and a moment passes. 

"Hm," he says. "Looks like-"

"I'm terribly sorry. It was all overwhelming, I shouldn't have hurt you. Thank you for saving my life and putting up with my insolence."

The ease at which the words spill out of my mouth surprises the both of us. He gives me a curt nod, and smiles once again.

"Looks like we're finally getting somewhere."

I don't know how to respond. I'm not sure what he means. Erik is far harder to decipher than anyone else. "Erm, sure."

Pause.

"Got anything to drink?"

"Depends. Fancy anything in particular?"

"I'm German." A smirk.

"So?"

"So I'll have anything."

I scowl.

"Even if it's one of your pussy little English drinks."

"Oh, bless you, a man after my own heart."

Erik chuckles and turns his back to me. 

"Perhaps," he calls over his shoulder. 

I slam into the doorframe as we walk into the kitchen, and, this time, blush to the sound of both of our laughter.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

"It's done," Hank says breathlessly, a smile spread from ear to ear across his pale face. I look up from my newspaper and slowly set down my coffee. Had he been running? 

Kitty reaches suddenly for a crayon on the table, and I lurch forward to pull her back onto my lap. "Careful," I mutter absent-mindedly, kissing her on her head. She ignores me and continues to draw a picture of her and husky looking figure. 

"Do you like it?" she asks, turning around and bumping her chin with mine. I lean back and push my glasses up on my nose. 

"Of course. Though Logan looks a bit funny. Why's he so furry?"

Through a sudden fit of giggles, she says, "No, that's the dog, Charles, not Logan." 

Oops. "Right, I knew that. Henry would be flattered you drew him so beautifully, isn't that right, Henry?" 

The wild German Shephard flies from his perch across the kitchen to my feet in a matter of seconds. Kitty nearly flings herself off my lap to get to him. I set her on her feet and stand up, trying to get some feeling back into my numb legs. 

"You finished?" I say, smiling. "Congratulations. You've been working so hard."

Hank flushes with pride. "I know you probably wanted to help finish, but I wanted to surprise you. Alex helped me put in the last few touches early this morning."

As if on cue, Alex comes back and ruffles Hank's hair. "I think you mean, Hank helped Alex put in the last few touches this morning." Hank smiles at him. 

I'm too thrilled to stop myself. 

_Alex isn't so bad after all. I could get used to this_ , Hank thinks, radiating pride. 

I turn to Alex.

_He's not as much of a prick as I thought. Weird. I wonder if Charles is going to finish his coffee._

"Coffee, boys?" I ask. Alex shrugs nonchalantly and I grab him his own cup. A moment of silence passes. "Let's go," I say, and gesture for Hank to lead the way. I swear his stride is a beat quicker than usual.

Hank, Alex and I had been working on building a training room for two months now. The bomb shelter my father had built when he bought the house has seen virtually no use, and I'd suggested we turned it into something useful. I had my own ideas, but Hank's extra input was vital. Alex's knowledge of practical mechanical skills was also crucial, once Hank or I had pointed him in the right direction. 

Some days had been maddening and unproductive, if not counterproductive. Some days Erik had come down with food or news or parts he had salvaged from somewhere. Sometimes silently, sometimes cracking a joke or two with the boys. 

Bobby served as a messenger, relaying information between us and Scott, Ororo, Jean, and Logan. Raven had often come down out of boredom. 

"You want to go out tonight, Charles?" she'd sigh, pulling down on hairs sticking out of her ponytail. "We haven't gone anywhere in forever."

At first, I went every time she asked solely to make amends for my earlier coldness, but very quickly it became fun. We'd play games with everyone at the bar, Raven turning into some celebrity and me making each individual in the room see a different famous person.

"Is that Brad Pitt?" a woman would shriek. Brad Pitt was trying very hard not to die of laughter. I quickly tapped into the drunk across the bar's mind.

"Are you blind? Hey, uh, Ms. Lohan, can I take a picture with you? If it's not too much trouble..."

Ms. Lohan cried with laugher at his request. Shoving past autograph requests for Harrison Ford and Emma Watson, she burst out of the bar, her laughter weakening her grip on her random escort's hand. I squeezed her hand and she tightened her grip as we tore down the dark alleyways, desperate to catch our breath from laughing too hard.

After barreling like maniacs for a few blocks, probably much further than we needed to go to escape a bunch of starstruck drunks but too hyped on adrenaline to stop, we eventually slowed and rested on a bench beneath a dim pool of light from the streetlamps.

Between huffs of breaths, guilt started to seep its way in. 

"Raven," I said, filling my lungs with the fresh summer air. "We really shouldn't have."

"Charles!" She laughed. "We've done this shit five times already, and now you feel guilty?" I leaned back on the bench, and we looked at each other, gasping for air. I think about it for a moment.

"Not really," I said, and we burst into laughter. Raven wiped the tears out of her eyes.

"And we aren't even shitfaced!"

I smile at the memory fondly as we descend the steps to the bunker. "We haven't exactly tested it yet," Hank calls from up ahead. "Just finished the control panel and pneumatics and what not." We go through the door and break into the brightly lit tunnel. 

Hank and Alex start the grand tour. "This is the control room," Hank says, gesturing to the room to our immediate right. Behind the glass lay a small room filled with crude yet simply brilliant machinery and panels, furnished with a chair and Kitty's drawing of Hank, Alex, Sean, and her using their powers.

_"Charles, Sean says my picture's too ugly to go in the room," she wails._

_"Tell Sean that if he can draw a better picture than this one, he can hang it up in place of yours. But for now, you can put it right up there." I lift Kitty over the slew of screwdrivers and she tapes her picture on the back wall, smiling with pride, as if her contribution were as important as everyone else's._

_"Couldn't you have at least drawn me a little bit bulkier?" Sean calls. Alex grins into the blueprints._

_"I think she drew you perfectly proportionately," he says, pointing to the fact that Sean's head is smaller than the rest of his head. Sean pushes off from his position on the opposite wall and leans in to scrutinize the drawing._

_"At least my legs aren't eight times fatter than my neck," Sean says, smacking Alex on his way out of the room._

But even Sean had contributed to the first material proof of our unity.

"What does that red light mean?" he'd asked on one of our more maddening days, when we couldn't manage to reroute the light circuits into the main control board. No one answered him, everyone too consumed in the blueprints, looking desperately for our mistake.

Our mistake, Alex had corrected Hank when Hank had said it was his. No day went entirely unproductive, I realize now.

"I'm pretty damn sure that red light is not a good sign," Sean continued, raising his voice. "I remember watching a World War One video in class and that meant that the room wasn't in a stable condition. Guys, have you seen this?"

I started to respond, then realized what I said was entirely unintelligible, as I'd been gnawing on a screwdriver in frustration. I took it out and called to him, "Sean, in a minute. We need to figure this out."

He completely ignored me, and strode over to where we were crowded in the back. Another body in the mix threw me off completely. I stood and stretchd my aching legs to tell him to go find Kitty when a fuse to my right exploded, spraying sparks over the near vicinity, the blueprints catching on fire. The red light quickly went from its solid color to flashing fervently as an alarm blared. 

Needless to say, a couple of fuses were screwy and the red light had  blatantly pointed this out for us, but we were too busy to notice. After calming a frenzied Raven and Kitty, whom was squirming in Bobby's arms as she screeched to make sure it was going to be okay, we fixed the fuses.

I rap my knuckles on the glass dividing the control room from the tunnel. "Did you finish this up with glass or plexiglass?"

"Two layers of each," Hank says. Alex steps between Hank and I.

"That would be my idea, Hanky-poo," he says, puffing out his chest.

"Always such an articulate planner when it comes to safety, Alex," I say with feigned pride.

Hank catches on. "It's what I admire most about him, actually." We grin at each other before Hank brings us into the control room and shows it off. I've seen most of this, but I let the two of them explain every detail, arguing over who's demonstration of finesse that switch had, or that lever.  

However, we can't really get the full sense of our consuming two-month project without actually putting it to practical use. 

"Shouldn't we invite the others?" I ask. Alex rolls his eyes, his entire body heaving with him. It's quite remarkable, actually, and I barely stop myself from asking him if excessive sass is a side effect to his mutation. 

"Charles," he whines. Something tickles the back of my neck, and I look at him with a smile, as if he had said "dad." 

Affection shoots through me, unexpected but entirely welcome, and I grab both of the boys into a hug. They writhe in resistance, but only for a moment. "Good for you boys," I choke, inexplicable tears lining my eyelashes. Alex makes retching noises, and I give him a sloppy kiss on top of his head in response. 

He ends the hug with a series of excessive pushing, as if neither Hank nor I are allowed to touch or so much as look at him for the next month. 

"I can go get them," Hank offers. I start to ask him if he could please do so, when an impish thought crosses my mind, dragging a smirk across my face. 

"No, no," I say. "I've got an idea."

Erik's latest means of coping with boredom as the three of us had worked on the training room had been to contact me on a walkie-talkie from a room merely ten feet away and bother me about some trivial matter.

"Charles, we're out of milk."

"The painting in your living room is crooked. Are you blind?"

"I'm bored. Chess?"

I haven't asked him his exact justification for the arbitrary calls, but I haven't complained, either. My hunch is that it's his way of mocking my telepathy. 

I, however, do not contact him randomly to inform him that his bathroom is much shinier than mine. 

I'm unable to contain the grin on my face. "Boys, get the room ready for its first test run." I turn on the walkie-talkie we have down here, mostly as a precaution, and send out a pulse to catch Erik's attention.

Hank frowns, but Alex catches my grin and drops into the chair, spinning it around to face the controls. "Alright, Hanky, what should we go with first?"

Hank pushes his glasses up on his face, clearly flustered. As I wait for Erik to answer, I want to tell Hank to lighten up, but then I remember the introverted sixteen year old boy I used to be and leave him be.

"This is unacceptable," his voice hums across the line, and my heart skips a beat, most likely in anticipation of what's coming.

"What, the fact that for once, I'm calling you first?"

I practically hear him scowl, and my smile aggrandizes. "No, the abhorrent paint job in the hallway. I was walking down the hall, following the dog-"

I burst into laughter, forgetting entirely that the boys were in the room. "Following the dog? Bloody hell, Erik, you really need a life."

"Please, Xavier, Raven told me all about the fact she had to bribe you with books to get you out of your room and go to parties. Anyway-"

"Oh, no, no, anything Raven says is highly apocryphal, I was all for going to bars-"

"Alright, _aushloch_ , let me finish the story. I was following the dog, as everyone was too busy being little lab rats in the basement to do anything interesting, when I noticed the carpet entirely clashed with the paint job. How have you lived with it for this long, you poor thing?"

I walk over and slam my head into the wall, trying to fight the smile off of my face so he can't hear it in my voice. "Let's cut a deal. You come down to the bunker, and I'll repaint the hallway when I can." 

"You missed my point. Paint jobs are not to be left to the Xavier family, as someone did such a shit job of it the first time. I may be a poor little Jewish boy,  but my father was a carpenter, and I know a bit about interior decorating," he says. 

"A poor little Jewish boy with a carpenter as his father? Your past, Erik, so unique, so full of depth...please, tell me more," I say. Slight restraint bites at the back of my words, but something tells me I've struck the right chord. I bite on my lip, fail to pull my grin down.

Sure enough, his deep, short-lived chuckle reaches out across the space, and I push off the wall erratically, unsure why, suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin, a bubble of laughter bursting in my chest. All I can do is laugh. The boys must think me insane. 

"At least I don't store tea bags in my nightstand as a means of being a proper English prick twenty-four seven," he says. 

"What on earth were you doing in my-" 

But the connection fell static.

I spin to the control board, finally fighting the giddiness off of my face and leaning in between Hank and Alex. "Alright, are you ready? He's almost here."

Hank scratches his head, reluctant to take part in a practical joke. I force him into it anyway. "Uh, well, we carefully constructed different tribulations for each mutant, different layers and levels designed to exploit every weakness I've so far observed in everyone, so it depends on what you want, Charles..."

The door to the bunker opens, and Erik strides out, clapping his hands together absently, looking about the room hopefully.

Looking, my heart registers with a fast beat, for me. My arm spasms. I nearly lose my balance and slam face first into the control board. What's come over me?

Alex impulsively flicks on the switch for program E-3.

Presumably Erik, difficulty of three out of five. 

Suddenly, the walls become scabrous, plastic protrusions sliding out on all sides. Erik quickly leaps to the side, avoiding a sharp spear. He looks down his nose at one of the spikes and pokes it tentatively. Alex, gaining momentum, almost visceral, slams another button. 

"Alex! It's already on autorun, don't override it," Hank shouts. Sure enough, things go a bit haywire from there. 

I'm still not sure how to handle it. Erik flings himself down as a harpoon (relatively harmless-not fatal, anyway) shoots out from one wall to the other, skimming the top of his carefully combed hair. Several harpoons shoot out over him, forming a web, a net, atop him. Once the harpoons seem exhausted, Erik slowly stands to his feet, spinning clumsily on his heels to face us, a confused look on his face. My stomach tightens with tension, and I wait for a reaction. 

I'm about to speak through the intercom to him, when he's blown into the air by a floor tile that had inexplicably shot upward. He flies a few feet into the air as Alex shouts, "Hey, there you go Hank, I knew there was a slumbering psychopath somewhere in that big head of yours!"

Worry chills me from the inside out and I know we shouldn't have ambushed him. I charge toward the door and tear it open, but Erik, on his way down, grabs onto his senses. He flings out his right arm and swipes up at the air above him. A few harpoons shoot madly about, nearly decapitating him and I sprint out onto the floor, despite Hank's protests that it's not safe, these trials aren't meant for me. He falls slowly, and I feel the few shreds of metal in the room vibrate with friction as he tries to slow his fall. Panic spreads through his face. He's missed something. 

But conviction flits into those dark, mysterious eyes, if just for a moment, and he once again thrusts his right arm upward, and this time, the harpoons rip out of the wall, and then slam back in, a different formation beneath him, one much more compatable to break Erik's fall. Sure enough, his body hits the thick metal coils, and he slows, a cry coming out of his lips as he gracelessly slips through the gaps and finally lands with a dull thud on the quivering floor.

Within seconds, I hear Hank pounding furiously at the keys on the control board, and the harpoons retreat as the movable tiles finally slow and click back into place, the walls returning to normal. I tear across the floor, skid under a lagging harpoon and, without a thought in this bloody stupid head of mine, pull Erik into a crushing embrace.

Hank and Erik burst out the door of the control room, but I ignore them and turn Erik's face into mine, a string of explicit litany I hadn't known before I found the children spilling out of my lips. 

"Good God, Erik, I'm...Jesus, are you alright?" 

I press my ear to his chest and let out a quick breath of relief at the sound of his pounding heart. He's just out cold.

Alex skids onto his knees next to me, Hank leaning over my shoulder. 

"Fuck, fuck. Is he okay?" Alex asks. 

"I'm a professor, not a doctor!" I shout, but he ignores me and leans in. 

"What the hell use is a doctorate if you can't do shit with it?" 

I'm tempted to slap him across the face. "What d'you mean, I can bloody teach with it, can't I? I'll have you know, genetics and the human genome and-"

"Well, golly, Charles, they call you Dr. Xavier, don't you?"

"Stop! Stop, we need to wake him up, he could've suffered a serious brain contusion," Hank pleads, and in my panic I hear what he's trying to convey politely: move the hell away you arrogant moron, Erik is hurt, why the hell did you tell us to do that...

He's right. I fall back onto my heels and let Hank move in. Hank, who actually wants to become a doctor. Maybe studying to a doctor would've been more useful. Dad always wanted me to be one. Maybe if I were a doctor, I would've been able to save Dad.

Focus, Charles, for the love of Christ, focus on someone who's still alive.

Alex looks up from slapping Erik. "What happened to your dad?"

Shit, shit, damn. Had I been projecting my thoughts this whole time? I've got to stop doing that. 

"Nothi-"

"Dunno, Al, maybe he walked into wee Charles' booby-trapped room and got a heart attack and died because the little prick couldn't fathom someone simply wanting a chat, what without having to tackle him or give him a call."

A different kind of pain shoots through my chest, but my relief quickly swallows it, and I lean around Alex to get a look at Erik's grimace. He sits up, staring at me, waiting, no doubt, for a reaction to his aspersion. 

I let out a forced chuckle. He scrunches his face in suppressed agony and sits up. We protest and try to lay him back down, but with the last of his waninng strength, he pushes us off and sits up.

"I'm fine. If you recall, I suffered worse from your brother's attack last week. Get off," he snaps as Hank reaches out to apply pressure to the cut on Erik's forehead. Hank recoils quickly. I try to say something, anything, when the door to the bunker slams open and Moira walks in.

"Oh, wow, sorry. I didn't think the door was that easy to open-oh God." She spots our bizarre circus entourage and runs across the bunker, one of her bright blue sneakers untied and dragging along the treacherous floors with an uncharacterstically loud hiss.

"Is he alright?" Moira asks me. I grimace with anticipation.

"No, I believe I'm dead. Three years in a concentration camp and two years avoiding authorities in Europe and it takes two kids and a not-doctor with a doctorate to kill the great Erik Lehnsherr."

His words stick to the walls as if the spikes had come back out and stabbed them, dangling them over us mockingly. I don't try to force a laugh this time. Erik's face falls. He realizes he's made a mistake. 

"I'm fine, I need to go on a walk." He shoves us all off and stands up, testing his legs out. I notice one nearly give out beneath him, but remain silent, something unfamiliar tugging at my chest as he runs his strong hands through his ruffled hair. By the time he turns back around to face us, any crack in his stony exterior, any sign of hurt or anger has passed, a devilish grin exploiting his sharp jaw line, heat pouring through me. "But genuinely, boys, well done. It's not bad." 

Alex starts to protest that the room, the Danger Room, as they'd come to call it, is a hell of a lot better than not bad, and Erik could take one of those harpoons and shove it up his hairy-

"It's not easy to sneak up on a metalbender, you know," he says loudly, but suddenly I hear it again, closer, more intimate, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I reach out, carefully, slowly, and hear it, his mind, throbbing, waiting for me to answer. I let out a gasp, and everyone looks at me. 

I grasp onto it, the whispers unspoken. The air is electric. 

_Come with me, Charles._

As if he could control skeletal entities, instead of metal, I'm drawn to my feet by some force other than neurochemical messages passing between the synapses in my brain. I pass by Moira, past the boys, who no doubt are  staring in consternation, but I flow further away, soon out of the dimly lit bunker, the place of fear and danger for many years now leaving its burden far away from me. I'm following something much darker, someone paradoxically much lighter, someone far more enigmatic than any gene pool anomaly, the greatest mystery my brain has ever had the joy of exploring, the greatest sight my eyes have ever laid on.

The door slams behind the two of us, and I'm shaken from my stupor. 

Had I really just thought all that? No. No, not at all, Erik, he's a, he's...

I'm the mind-controller, not him. Those thoughts were my own.

And sure enough, there standing across from me in the hallway, his chest pressed close to my own, hearts pounding in tandem, so tangible that I can nearly taste his thoughts, the mystery that is Erik Lehnsherr stood before me, something almost entirely unrecognizable gleaming in his eyes.

Almost entirely unrecognizable, had I not seen it in Moira's eyes before.

My gut clenches, and I force myself to stare at the door that had just shut us in this intimate stairwell together. I feel my mouth open and close with futile attempts at conversation, all the while his hot breath on my cheek and heavy gaze on my lips.

My face. He's just looking at me, that's all. Erik's different, Erik isn't used to normal, friendly social situations, I try to remind myself. My thoughts slow, and become more controlled. Yes, that's it. Erik is probably-definitely-more uncomfortable than I am right now, and he doesn't know how to act, that's all.

His laugh jolts me back into the cold stone wall behind me and I blurt, "Tea, I really want some tea, do you?"

But he's too busy laughing, and a new, much more mortifying heat races through my veins. I'd been projecting my thoughts again. I need to learn not to do that in high pressure situations. 

I suck it up and just do it. 

I slam as far back as I can into the wall, our chests just barely touching now, and I sidestep as gracefully as I can past him, stumbling onto the first step, and then eventually gaining relief and comfort, I draw myself to full height, tug down on my disheveled shirt, and climb the stairs with as much dignity as I can muster.

The quickest escape plan my jumbled mind can summon is to head in the direction opposite the kitchen, in case Erik followed my earlier musings and went to find me making tea. The mere thought of drinking it with my troubled stomach makes me want to vomit. 

As I turn to the right, it's impossible to ignore the entity behind me. I turn quickly, determined to finish whatever game the fool is playing.

Patience. I had just bludgeoned him with the Danger Room, after all. Maybe he really is suffering brain damage, and has no idea what he's doing. At least I'm getting better at sensing him behind me.

"Nice hair," he says, nodding at me. I try not to blush and turn to look at myself in the reflection of the dusk-tinged window of the back of the kitchen. Sure enough, color has flushed my cheeks, and my miserable brown locks are strewn wildly over my scalp like the thoughts in my brain. I reach up to pat it down into something relatively acceptable, but a strong hand catches my wrist, encasing it entirely with four long fingers. I gulp and give a gentle tug, playing along, but he doesn't relinquish his grip. He looks at my hair for a long moment, as if memorizing it, which is ridiculous, who wants to remember how someone's hair looks, especially in such an unkempt state, and then finally lets go. 

"So. Tea, before bed time, Charles?" He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Didn't your mother ever-" 

I spin my back to face him and lean back against the counter, my hands gripping its worn edges. I hear him inhale sharply.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you caffeine is bad before bed time?"

I shut my eyes, silently begging Moira to come upstairs. In about three seconds I crumble under my own pressure and actually force her to come upstairs. I hear her footsteps soon enough and sigh, relieved. 

He's waiting. I feel it. I spin around and fall back on my default fail-safe for conversation.

"Tea contains catechins, an uncommon antioxidant proven to reduce various forms of cancer and ailments, such as coronary artery disease. Its constituents mitigate the psychophysiological effects of trauma and stress. In this case, Erik," I hiss through gritted teeth, my breath catching as I trail off. I don't know why, but I'm suddenly, inexplicably angry, embarrassment draining with every second.

It's tea, for God's sake. I'm getting emotional over tea.

"In this case, I'd say the benefits far outweigh the consequences." 

Erik nods, his gaze flitting over to look at Moira as she comes upstairs, confused as to why she's there, but sure something had told her to leave the boys in the bunker and come upstairs immediately and demand she speak to Charles. Erik is unfazed.

"I suppose that's what ran through your mind before you went to talk to your brother, yeah?"

For some reason, I welcome this. I want to egg him on. I want to hear fury tinge at the edge of his words, to see the leer in his eyes, to see him set his jaw. 

The more I focus on the way he holds it in,  the way he leans back against the counter casually and starts talking to Moira, I feel the anger drain from me. 

For every second Erik forces himself not to get angry, I stay angry for a shorter and shorter amount of time. I watch his control, the ease at which he sweeps around the kitchen, preparing tea the way I do, and I imagine him standing here, watching me in the mornings when I don't know he's there, because it's very easy to sneak up on a telepath, you know, when that telepath loves...

Loves the way he makes good tea. 

"Come on. You're on edge. Just take it."

He hands it to me, every ounce of tension and worry gone. I take it with ease, and even manage to share a smile with him. 

He shoots a quick look back at Moira, who's looking out at the sunset, her hands cupping her tea as the light sets a slight glow on her delicate face. But I soon realize I am not interested in the way Moira looks at the sunset, the way she doesn't even notice she's smiling, no matter how beautiful she looks.

No, no, I am much more interested at gazing at the mystery in front of me and the steam emanating from our innocent tea into the thick air between us.

We stand there, for a moment, the kitchen silent with thought, when his voice breaks me out of it, and everything falls back to normal.

"I say, now that the Room is ready, we train, all of us, even Kitty. We study everything we can, every file, scrutinize every database, scrape together everything we can on Shaw and his filthy minions, we come up with a good, stable, plan, contingincies and all, just like you'd want, and when we're just enough ready, we fight. I know it's not much for now, but you're the braniac, you'll figure it all out. I'll stick by your side and we'll take down Shaw, as a group. As a...yeah. A team," he says.

I look over at Moira. She looks back at the two of us, and cocks her head, something playing across her face.

What does she see?

"I agree," she says after a long moment.

"I agree," I add. 

Erik sips his tea fastidiously, and I try not to laugh at him, the German feigning his love of tea for the sake of atonement.

"But only because you've finally admitted I'm the braniac."

He rolls his eyes completely and entirely, but I know that's the exact moment in which we sealed something between us. A bond, perhaps, formed out of the fragile thirst for revenge and an entirely unstable mentality, but something nonetheless.

Something.

***

We start off slow, unsure, selfish. The boys use each other as shields to dodge projectiles and any productive work quickly declines into who can beat the hell out of each other more efficiently. The infirmary is filled with angst-ridden teenagers and terse adults more than ever. I spend most of my concentration trying not to howl profanity at them when they screw up their objective, and Erik uses most of his energy making sarcastic comments. Scott and Jean stay in the lab most of the time, probably experimenting on Cain behind my back, while Logan and Ororo often join us in the Danger Room. 

Today I wake up preemptively annoyed, no doubt for the events to come. I mull around my room for a while, mentally sorting and sifting through various strategems we'd attempted, different formations, impromptu attacks, exploiting the opponent's weakness, doing the best to minimize ours. 

I hadn't realized how long I'd been in my room until Raven comes in, a useless knock following in her wake. "Morning. Everyone's down having breakfast. You want something?" she asks.

I set down the marble chess pieces I'd been absently fiddling with. 

"Hm. I'll think about it. Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?" She ambles over slowly, nodding, and gives me a warm hug. 

"Like a log. I'm exhausted, honestly. I mean, I know we're working hard, but our efforts seem..."

"Fruitless?" I offer. She scowls and slaps my shoulder.

"Must you always interrupt me? I was going to say slightly unproductive. Your word is harsher," she says, as if that proves anything.

"Right, but I only used one word, you used two. Strength in numbers."

"Oh, shut up, you dork. I'm just waiting for some sign of improvement. Anything," she says. I see she's holding onto something, and she gives me an anxious look. But years of honesty weigh onto her words and she adds, "Really, I mean, what have we improved on?"

I chuckle. "Well, yesterday, Logan only shouted 'fuck' twice. That's a new record."

Raven bursts into laughter. "Yeah, yeah. And Sean only kneed Alex in the balls four times. Definitely getting better." 

We descend into giggles, falling back onto the bed next to each other, staring up at the shabby ceiling. "Erik's right." I point up at the ceiling. "That is one shit paint job."

We laugh some more and she drapes one of her legs over mine, fitting as perfectly now as it had all those times before. Our laughter slows, and nostalgia, if not sorrow, starts to creep its way into the air between us.

"Sometimes I still feel like we're ten years old, still figuring everything out. Look at us, lying on this same old bed," Raven says, craning  her neck to look at me. I smile back. 

"I firmly believe no one ever really grows up, everyone just looks a bit older and insists that they are while they gradually grow more bitter and grouchy about life in general." 

Raven nods at this. "I'm scared, Charles. Like I was back then."

"I have no what I'm doing, Raven, just like back then."

It's quiet for a minute.

"Not to mitigate your fears, Raven, or exacerbate them, but I'm scared too."

I strain to listen to the sound of clattering plates and manic chatter from the dining room. Raven sighs.

"Yeah, that really didn't make me feel better."

I grin again. "Oh, what, it's my job to make you feel better? I'd say it's because I'm your older brother, but you'd insist that's sexist."

"No I wouldn't!" She gently smacks the back of her hand into my stomach and I recoil in fake pain. She drags me back to her, nuzzling her forehead into my shoulder. "We're the same age, dumbass. You're, like, a month older than me. You just sound more mature with your pretentious words and British accent." 

I chuckle.

"Don't deny it. You and I do that, alright? We protect each other. We..." Uncertainty creeps into her voice, and she stammers around her words. "We always do. No matter what. Right?"

I don't miss a beat. "Right." 

Her breathing barely slows, and she fumbles to grip my hand, and I wonder what she makes of it, of all that is to come. 

"Well," I exhale, squeezing her hand tight, relaxing only once I've said everything. "I don't know what'll happen tomorrow, or today, or how many times Logan will swear this afternoon, or how many times Sean will refer to sexual innuendo, but one thing is for sure. We are surrounded, for the first time in a long while, by people we trust and love, and people who love and trust us, and if that's not enough to defeat Shaw, I don't know what is."

She turns into my side, her arms grappling my chest, desperate to be close, her desire for a hug overwhelming me too, and soon we're crushing each other, sharing the burden together. I encase her in my arms, trying to be as strong as possible. 

"Especially with you, Raven, I trust you, and love you, more than anyone else." 

I sense a harrowing memory race through Raven's mind, one I choose to skip out on, to let her overcome herself. I lay there next to her, whispering the good memories, kissing her on her soft blond hair. 

"I'm so afraid of being alone again," she whispers eventually, leaning back and wiping the tears off of her lips. "I'm afraid of losing you."

"I'm a twenty-four year old guy who wears sweater vests with a British accent living in a mansion in New York. I promise, Raven," I say, matching my smile with hers as it breaks across her face. I wipe a tear off her cheek with my thumb. "It's damn well hard to lose me." I poke her cheek and she swats at my hand. "You, on the other hand." She tries to bite one of my fingers.

"You. You stay close."

Raven sits up, the heavy mood gone. She drapes a blanket over her shoulders and looks off dramatically into the distance. "Oh, how could I not, dear Charles," she begins in a disgustingly saccharine British accent. She snaps her head to face me, widening her eyes, spinning once with her arms stretched out. "How could a girl like me ever survive without her elder male kin?"

I leap off the bed, grab her around the midsection, and carry her, giggling, all the way down to breakfast, not a shred of fear in my mind.

***

Today even Scott and Jean join us in the Danger Room, and I'm able to bite down several sarcastic comments on the status of my stepbrother. I remind myself they are my friends, good people, and Cain is everything but. The tension heightens, however, as it always does when Logan and Scott are both within Jean's vicinity. 

I wonder with amusement if I'm the only one who notices the way Logan looks at Jean when Scott isn't looking, and the way Scott glares at Logan when Logan's distracted, and the way Jean doesn't give a damn about it all. Everyone else seems unfazed and attributes the agitation to the usual scenario: a compound objective. 

The first few weeks were dedicated to individual exploration of our gifts,  learning their limits, their breaking points, and how to control them. Lately, to my sanity's dismay, we've been attempting to train together. Hank and I threw together a few programs that will test us as a team. 

By the time the six adults reach the bunker, the children are already there, in the control room. Sean spots us immediately, a gleam in his sharp eye, and shouts, "Hey, let's give the old'uns here a run for their money!" 

My entire body heaves with a sigh and I throw my head back in annoyance. "Sean," I say through gritted teeth. "We usually go over the day's plans before we jump to any objectives. Today is no exception."

"Yeah, Charles, yeah. And I'm inherently impulsive. Today is no exception. Good luck!"

In the split second before he fends off a protesting Hank and finds the right button to jam, we surge toward the control room to stop him. But sure enough, he finds the damn button, the control room door bolts shut, and the lights turn off. Our newest addition, a metallic voice, cuts through the dark.

"Objective Z dash seven, commencing."

Logan snorts, making me jump out of my skin. I'd forgot I'm not alone. "Alright, what's the dark trying to prove? Are we gonna play some dramatic game of hide and seek? You guys sure do love your drama."

I want to scowl at him, but then I realize that might be overdramatic, and besides, it's dark. 

"We have to trust our other senses," Scott snaps. I feel Erik chuckling next to me. No, then, I'm not the only one who senses the tension. Of course Erik does. Silent but observant, that one. I suppose he's had a lot of time to people watch. Though his keen sense of sight isn't much use now.

Scott starts to formulate one of his plans. They really never change, but they're stable, nonetheless, and everyone manages to loosely follow them, even Logan. Even in the dark, Erik and I shift to the back of the group. We have mere seconds before the offensives turn on, and then we'll be under attack.

He starts off quiet, and slowly gains confidence, though I imagine he feels a bit silly talking to the darkness. "So we need to discover what the actual objective is, when everything starts up. If it's a reconaissance mission, we'll do the usual. Except this time, Erik and Logan take the lead, Charles on left flank and Ororo on the right. Jean and I will clean up in back."

_Oh, blimey, I've been upgraded to left flank_ , I shoot to Erik before I can stop myself.

We try to cover up our laughter. I elbow him quickly. We're the ones so desperate for improvement, we can't be the ones causing the lack of progress.

I laugh at Scott, but truly, he's a fair leader, and we do decently on our objectives. 

"If it's survival mode, we split up and watch each other's backs. Try to take out as many projectiles and obstacles as possible." 

Everyone presumably nods in agreement, until we all mutter embarrassed affirmations after realizing no one can see movements in the dark. 

"But be careful, it's dark. Don't go wild with your powers, you could hit a...a. Uh. A team...member. Yeah."

I start to send something to Erik, but his thoughts cover mine.

_A team member. Damn. And I'd thought there was something more between us._

My lip nearly starts bleeding under the pressure of my bite as I suck in my laughter. The long minute passes, and a low rumble shakes the bunker. As the floor starts to slide beneath us, everyone shouts out last minute plans.

"It's widening into a chasm," I call out with realization. I back away from the center of the room, listening carefully to the reverberations. Sure enough, the echoes lasted far longer in the middle of the room, caught in an artificial abyss. Damn, this room is flawless. 

"I'm good," I mutter to myself, laughing in awe at the fluidity of the floor when my feet suddenly slip out from beneath me. In a surge of madness, I throw out my arms and catch myself on the wall of the chasm. Stupid, stupid. Couldn't've backed up a foot further, could you've, Xavier? 

I'm absolutely helpless. My greatest creation has quickly become my greatest downfall as  my feet fail to gain purchase on the slick wall. A few bangs cut through the air behind me, and I know the next assailment has started. I can't crane my neck around to see, and my panic builds with my feebleness. I think about calling out for help, but no doubt the other mutants have their hands full, and besides, that's stupid. I could handle my own invention, couldn't I?

The floor gives another shudder, and one of my clammy palms slip, until I'm dangling by a few shaky fingers and my left hand. I try to raise myself up, but the convulsions throw me back over the edge every time I get close.

Damn my gift. My power.

My curse.

Entirely defensive, really, mostly useless, half-impressive, and barely instrumental in life or death situations. 

So here I sway, holding on by a shred of sheer pride, supported by hot air filled with arrogance, gripping on to my dignity with all I have. 

"Fuck me," I breath, slamming my thick skull into the wall in front of me in resignation. As if on cue, someone fumbles for, then grabs my wrists and yanks me upward violently. Pain shoots up my arms and into my shoulder blades, but I'm out, and ready to be somewhat useful. 

Despite the darkness, I can see the empowering look on his face in lucid detail. I take a deep breath and let it fill me as he stares back. 

"Bist du bereit?" Erik calls, childish competition sweeping through his voice.

I smirk. "Ja, ja. Lasst uns gehen!" I shout back smoothly over the din of the battle.

You ready?

Yeah, yeah. Let's go.

_Why don't you ever let us have conversations in British, Erik?_ I send him as I duck under a tranquilizing dart whistling by. 

_Because I'd show you up, old boy, and you'd be too chuffed to respond._

I launch off of my heels, leap over a low sweeping projectile and land gracelessly in a net. As I flail angrily, desperate to get out, I respond, _Fantastic deduction, my dear Watson._

_Oh, good one, old chap old boy._

The net continues to form about me, shooting wire after wire above me, coiling around me. After a couple of tries, I strain my ears and manage to grip a harpoon, follow its momentum, and stab it into what I hope is a weak point in the net. Sure enough, it breaks at one of its seams, and I tumble to the floor which, gratefully, had shifted back into one piece.

_You're making me vomit tea into my mouth, Erik._

He laughs so hard I can hear him from across the room. Logan calls out that he's taken down the traps in the back right corner. I run to the left corner to counter what I hear is an oncoming attack, hoping to be of some use. I hang on to Erik's mind as long as I can without breaking concentration.

_Dear God, Charles, I've hit my head so hard, I'm seeing swastikas._

His distraction sends me face-first into a protruding pole, one of many now jutting out of the wall at specifically timed intervals. My head flies back, my feet fling forward, and I land on my back, hard. I would laugh at our offensive stereotypes, but the breath has left my body completely.

"You okay?" someone shouts from across the room. 

"Yeah, yeah! Absolutely fine!" I call, rearing back onto my feet. Time to do something productive. What was I doing? Countering a new attack. Yeah. Back left corner. 

Duck low, in case the attack is projectiles. Light on the feet, in case it's the floor. 

Just when I come close to the back corner, when I think about deliberately stepping in front of the honing missiles so they chase after me and the others have the time to finish the task, the lights turn on, and the definitive whirring of the retracting weaponry and shifting tiles tells me the mission is over.

"Objective failed," the cool metallic voice says. Ironically, her apathy almost sounds mocking. Disappointment floods my aching body. There are all the kids, watching, waiting, expecting, after all these days of us ridiculing them, to watch us work in perfect synchronicity and finesse, and we'd failed.

"What the fuck even was the objecti-" Logan starts, but the lady, Frau Hündin, as Erik has taken to calling her, cuts across him.

"Subject failed to retrieve flag."

We simultaneously look up, all suddenly responding to the instinct we'd ignored from the beginning, and lay our eyes on the small red flag dangling from a crane on the ceiling.

"For shit's sake. How were we supposed to get that?" Logan growls. Scott raises his eyebrows and clears his throat a little too loudly.

"Call me crazy, maybe if we'd followed a plan or actually tried to work together, we might've been able to." 

Logan slowly looks down from the ceiling and glares at Logan. "Oh, great idea, let's build a human ladder and I'll climb up you guys, sticking my claws in, body after body,  defying gravity as I climb up a sheer flat wall and reach up and grab your mother's lingerie from the ceiling."

Scott takes a step toward Logan, and I take a tentative step in his wake, driven by the urge to be helpful in some manner. "Did you ever think that maybe you're the reason we fail time and time again?" He prods a finger into Logan's puffed out chest. Logan narrows his eyes.

"At least I did something! What the hell were you doing the whole time? I didn't see you or hear you or watch you use your powers or-"

"You didn't see me? Wow, did you think that maybe that was because it was pitch black, Logan?" 

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. We are setting a terrible example. 

_We're totally fucked_ , Alex repeats to himself. 

_I thought they were supposed to know what they're doing_ , Hank thinks, fear tracing his thoughts. 

_Damn_ , I hear Sean. _We'll never survive with them like this. They can't even capture the flag, and we're expected to defeat Shaw's army?_

I didn't mean to groan so loudly. Logan and Scott turn to look at me. At least they've shut up. 

His momentum and rage carries him forward. He whirls on me. "Headache, Chuck?" Logan sneers, dragging his claws back between his bloodied knuckles. I try to hide my fascination as I watch, for the hundredth time, the skin draw close over the tears in his skin where his claws had first come out. "God knows all those counterattacks must've hurt that pretty little brain of yours. Could've sworn you didn't actually do anything, but maybe I'm wrong. Need some painkillers?"

My words are icy. "Funny you said that, Logan, I was hoping you'd just slice my head clean off, and both our problems would be solved."

He comes for me, but Scott pushes him back. 

"Please, Logan. Charles has to be careful," Ororo pleads, probably thinking she's being helpful to me, but I know where this is going, and I storm to the door, refusing to be around to hear the end of it. But she says, "His power can't entirely defend him. It's more...passive. He's got to be physically adept, whereas it comes natural to the rest of us." 

I slip through the door and head to the library to research if a man can go blind from rolling his eyes too many times. An odd sort of bang rings out behind me, but I brush it off as Logan punching the wall in a neanderthal rage.

"Charles!" Raven calls after me. "Charles, no, seriously, come back! You have to see this!" See what? A bunch of fools trying to size each other up? Angry mutants who will never prove to the world that they're more than...more than freaks? She calls for me again, a high pitched shriek. She does love to be dramatic. Well, I did just storm out of the room like the arrogant blighter I am. I swear under my breath and walk forward. Well, walk into him.

I suppose you could say he just appeared, though whether that's a cheeky or blatanty stupid observation of mine, I don't know. 

The lanky figure staggered backward in a cloud of indigo smoke, stretching out his arms and legs as he did so, as if he'd been crammed in a box much smaller than him for the past few hours. For all I know, at the moment, he might've been. 

I let him recover from his sudden actualization before easily slipping into his mind. I do love the challenge of prying into someone's mind who knows me, someone who has so many defenses against me it takes me a full minute to fully absorb their pathos, but this mutant, he's vulnerable, young, and...blue.

"Hallo," he says, smiling weakly. _Mein gott, that was the worse jump I've had in a while, this verdammt head feels like it's going to split open...keep your calm, Kurt, they're your only chance to save Peter._

"Er, I'm-"

"Kurt," I say, pressing my lips together in a thin smile. _Kurt Wagner, yes?_

He freezes in place, eyes widening as he searches me. It's taking every shred of his willpower not to flee, not to attack, like he's done so many years, now, running from his own people, in his own hometown, freak, disgusting, not my son...

I shake off the memories, his memories, before I start to truly feel his pain, before I cry, like I'd done with Erik all those months ago. 

"You're German?" I say softly. Kurt had doubled over in sorrow when I'd triggered his memories. His hesitation with some words, the tang of his accent, the image of a town slowly rebuilding after years of decimation. I rub at my chest, suddenly aching. 

He looks up at me and nods, face trembling with the urge not to cry. As he composes himself, I try to gather other information about him from what's purely in front of me, no prying, no...no, Charles, not anymore, look what you've done.

Kurt looks to be Alex's age, eighteen. His long black shirt sleeves slip far past his bony fingers, the collar down past his shoulder, a shirt not made for him, not bought by someone who knew his size. Not bought, perhaps, at all. The blue hair atop his head is disheveled, like he hasn't had the chance to look in a mirror in a while. I look down as he stands to his shaky feet. A cut across his leg oozes blood onto torn jeans and bare feet. 

I finally bring myself to meet his gaze. It's gone hard, now. Quick, with years of practice.

"I have come to...er-" he tries. "You are telepath, yes?" 

"Yes, but look, you need medical attention, let me get Hank." I extend a hand to him, but he recoils and shakes his head.

"No, I can't. My English," he says, trailing off, the ghost of a smile on his face. "My friend Russian, and I am German, not very good...not very good language together." 

"It's alright, it's alright, I've got a friend, he's good with German, but please, let me-let us-help you, you're injured." I give him a smile and wave my hand a bit, waiting for him to come to me, to get his trust.

Any form of relief on his face quickly drains away, and he contorts his face in pain. I stop myself from moving forward. I can't scare him. "Quick, please, my friend need help. I jump here, heard of Mr. Doctor Xavier," he breathes. "Peter with me, when...when they came, I...I jump here with no Peter, I'm coward." He starts to sob, but when I kneel down next to him, he slams back up against the wall. "Just please, help find Peter. Peter is my only..." His body racks with sobs. "Peter like brother, like you and friends here." 

"Of course, I understand. We're going to help you, Kurt, you and Peter. But first, we need to help you, and then we can figure everything out, yes?" I wait for his crying to slow, and I reach out carefully, and gently but firmly put my hand on his shoulder, giving him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. 

He looks up at me and for the first time since he appeared, meets my gaze, and holds it. I give him as soothing of a smile I can manage, and move my hand down, opening my palm toward him one last time.

"You're among friends now, Kurt."

Before I had even sent her a telepathic message, before I had even locked her gaze to prompt her, Raven kneels down next to me, shifting from her blonde facade to her natural blue body, smiling at Kurt.

"Hell, look at us. We might even be cousins."

She gives him another one of her bright smiles, looking more beautiful than I'd ever seen her. She stands back, and Kurt looks back at me, a small bit of relief working its way onto his face. He slowly, carefully slips his three-fingered hand into mine, keeping one eye on me and one on Raven, still apprehensive, but trusting, as a last resort, the two of us.

"Kurt," Erik says in a voice that fell short of warm and welcoming, but I commend him for trying. I look up at Erik, and see the question between his hard gaze before he asks it. I try to stop him, but he still says, fighting to keep his voice even, "Who came for you and your friend?"

The room goes cold, the smell of brimstone and blood and sweat sickeningly overwhelming. Kurt's long nails dig into my wrist and I desperately try not to cry out.

No one needed any form of telepathy to know the answer.

"Well, sir, I...I'm not very, uh...I don't know him, he's bad," Kurt says, fighting the pain out of his voice. I let him lean on me more, trying not to look at Erik's visceral gaze.

"He called himself Shaw."

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

I can only look at him in awe. As I'd thrown his arm around my shoulder and taken slow steps with him down to the infirmary, I'd watched everyone's faces. Bless them, they tried to mitigate their reactions, but only ended up looking more strained in their efforts. Erik looked angry, and I wanted to explain to Kurt that this was because of Shaw, not him, but then Kitty cut me off by pointing at Kurt and asking, "what is that thing?"

"She's seven," I blurted, dragging him quickly out of the kitchen. He kept his head down.

Raven, fortunately, smiled at him warmly. Empathy. A wonder beyond all I've ever witnessed.

I sit next to him now as Jean sets to work on his leg, Hank handing her supplies. Kurt continues to look down at his leg in shame, muttering in German to himself sadly. I stare at him, despite myself, but I know I look nothing like they had back there, eyes wide, mouths pulling into uneasy grimaces.

He's brilliant.

"How do you materialize like that? How far can you go?" I lean in as he shoots me a wary look. "Is that all you can do? Logan has two powers. Do you have more? Are your parents mutants?"

"Charles."

What a surprise. He'd followed.

"It's an infirmary, not a courthouse."

I want to preemptively snap at Erik for badgering Kurt about Shaw, as that is no doubt what he came down here to do, but he's right. I settle back in the chair, watching Jean and Hank work on his leg.

"Right. Well, where did you last see Peter? We can dispatch a few of us to find him." His long, tapered ears perk up at this. "Probably," I add quickly.

"Maybe," Erik says icily.

"Definitely," I snap.

"Not likely at all, really, we've been doing rather poorly in our training..." He stretches lazily, blatantly staring at Kurt with a less-than-kind glare.

I stand abruptly to my feet. "In fact, we'll go right now, won't we, Erik?"

"No, no, Doctor Xavier, sir," Kurt pleads through gritted teeth, arching his back up in pain as Jean pours some alcohol on the wound. "Peter and I, we were far from here. Only I go back, but help is good." He hurries a glance past Erik, who clearly scares him, and meets my gaze. "Help is good," he echoes quietly. "Never much help, it seems."

"You're still hurt, your powers won't work very well, and besides, you're in no condition to-"

"Have you ever taken a person with you, when you've, ahm...jumped?" Erik asks, making haphazard quotation marks with his hands, rolling his eyes a bit. I clench my fists, but turn to hear Kurt's response anyway.

He starts to shake his head, then stops, his gaze flicking to the floor. "Er...never tried, sir, never tried."

"My name is fucking Erik. Jesus. I'm not your superior," he hisses.

The smallest of small smirks sneaks onto Kurt's face. His head still ducked down, but his eyes slowly raising to land on Erik, he says, "Sorry, Fucking Erik Jesus."

I cross my arms on my chest and stick my tongue into my cheek, shooting a smug look over my shoulder at Erik. Anger flares across his face quickly, his nose crinkling for a second, before amusement swallows his rage.

"Fine. I guess I'll like you."

I snicker loudly for a minute as they bandage Kurt's leg and give him some painkillers. I mull a few questions through my mind before picking a few I would ask Kurt, as gently as possible.

"Is Peter a mutant?" I ask softly as Kurt settles uneasily against the pillow. Jean puts a gentle arm on his shoulder and he eases down, clearly out of his comfort zone. I wonder when the last time was that someone took care of him. Looked at him normally, even. Didn't call him a freak. My stomach flips.

Kurt nods dazedly, already losing his consciousness to the pills. I try to ask him his powers but he misses the question. I lean in as Erik scoffs at me to leave him alone, he's no use anyway, he doesn't know where Shaw went.

"Kurt, how many people were with Shaw?"

I nearly jump out of my skin when Logan calls out behind me, "Looks like the cat's got his tongue. Ask him to hold up how many fingers. Unless there were more than three, then it's useless."

Thankfully, Kurt had already slipped into a deep sleep. I whirl around, infuriated, quite ready to tackle Logan and tear at his face. Erik, of course, beats me to it, much to  my dismay. He drags upward on the air, ripping Logan's claws involuntarily out of his hand, and grips his wrist, pulling Logan in.

"Not like you could do much better, shortstop." Erik licks all three of Logan's claws suggestively before shoving them back into place. Erik throws Logan back with skill I haven't realized he possesses until just now. Logan flies through the metal doors that had magically opened, and a loud crash emanates from down the hall, the dog barking furiously to the sound of Logan's swearing.

My fury builds with every second, but now only Erik stands in front of me.

"Oh? Is that what they're calling you now? Hypocrite the Hero?" He starts to defend himself, but I'm nearly foaming at the mouth, my fury blotting out Jean's requests that we quiet down. Red claws at the edge of my vision as I move closer. "So you can insult the boy, but he can't? And then you can throw him back like he's nothing? Since when could you even do that, anyway? It's not like you've decided to pull that out in the Danger Room, when we could actually use a stunt like that. You seething fool," I hiss, fingernails digging in until my palms bleed profusely.

It isn't until Erik shoves me out of his head that I realized I'd tapped into his to calm him down, only to have it backfire on me until I experienced anger and frustration twofold, threefold, really, what with Erik's temper...

He opens his mouth to say something, then clamps it shut. He spins on his heels and walks calmly out of the infirmary. I hesitate, then decide to follow, willing myself to cool down in  order to talk to him.

It's obvious. A defense mechanism. A harsh, cold exterior, the only means of defending himself in a world full of people there to hurt him. Isn't that why I buried my face in those damn books? Because words are more preferable than humans and all the terrible things they wreak on others?

Despite his impenetrable thick skull, I somehow know where I'll find him. I quietly enter my father's old study, my eyes flitting cautiously about the room until resting on Erik, sitting atop the desk, lackadaisically flipping a marble knight in his hand, again and again, a patient, calculated rhythm to it.

A small chill runs down my spine, and another once I realize I can't exactly pinpoint why.

"I'm surprised you can tolerate this room," he says airily. I close the door behind me and shrug.

"One may tolerate a room full of bad memories for the sake of a good chess game."

He laughs quietly to himself, then slams the knight back onto the chessboard. I don't flinch, not anymore, not after months and months of living with him and his outbursts. My heartbeat picks up, though. Fear, no, I don't fear Erik...I don't think...

I don't, in the least, fear that he will hurt me.

What a curious thing. My fingers betray me, shaking, and I will him not to notice, but his eyes are glued to me. I give a shaky smile, unsure what else to do. God, why does he make me so uneasy? He's just a friend, what on earth is there to be worried about? His rage? I've already felt it thousands of times.

"I'm going to find him, once the boy wakes up and gives us some more details. I'd rather you didn't come, but I don't need to have your gifts to know I can't stop you from following." He drops his gaze to the floor, and lets out a short huff of laughter. "Well, I could, but..." He shakes his head. "I won't endanger the kids, Charles, not with this. They're not ready. We're not even ready, not as a team. It's best if I go alone. I can take on Shaw, I've seen the extent of his power."

"And the other mutants in Shaw's brotherhood?" I say as evenly as possible, slowly walking toward him, fighting the nervous spasms in my legs. "I suppose you can just fight all of them off, can't you?"

He fixes a glare on me. "I'm not going to wait around for him to attack us, if that's what you're hinting at."

It's my turn to laugh humorlessly. I look away and stare instead at the only picture of my family in the entire house, resting on the desk, coated with dust. My father was on the left, a few months before he died of an aneurysm, his arm around me, when I was young, and my mother on the left, posing in that obligatory motherly way.

I swallow. "Actually, I was hinting that your relentless and inane requests for heroics and justice are romanticized attempts of revenge and ruthlessness."

He slips off the desk. "Oh, aren't you clever? It doesn't take a genius, I wasn't trying to hide it. And yeah, I don't want the kids in the way, bumbling around, but I care about them, believe it or not. I'm not the pissy little psychological patient you're making me out to be, Charles."

The room is hot. Suffocating.

"God forbid I care, right? No one knows it like me, and don't you forget it," he hisses, losing his composure. I look up at the hurt in his eyes, the very look I've become all too familiar with. "To love is to be broken. I get that. And I've chosen to love this house, those kids, and..." He fumbles for a second. Erik never fumbles with his words. "...and what we stand for. But I can't let the man who ruined my past walk all over innocent mutants and make you into a laughingstock."

I open my mouth, but he raises a finger. "So I am selfish. I'm not the cute little altruistic philanthropist you are."

Cute?

A small noise escapes my mouth. I hope he doesn't notice, but he does, cocking his head in bemused amusement for a moment. It's as if he doesn't even notice what he'd said.

That, or he didn't care.

Or he wanted to say it. Huh.

Wow, Jesus, stop, we're talking about revenge and war and protecting our children- _the_ children, my God...

My outburst must have shaken off his anger, at least temporarily. "I'm many things, Charles, but I'm not a coward, and God help the man who says otherwise."

My mind is racing and I blurt, "Your Catholic allusions are so insightful, Erik."

Really, Charles. The man is enraged, psychotic, really, searching for revenge, but also admitting to his love for children, something he probably thought he'd never admit to, and also he called you cute, and-

And what's that he's doing, what-

He doesn't seem finished with what he's saying, and I'm not done either, and I feel his defenses dropping, and I start to slip into his mind as he closes the distance between my face, his face, both of ours...

He's amused, whether at the thought of me being rendered senseless or at what he's about to do, and a delicious open-mouthed smile parts his lips, his eyes flicking down onto mine, hand moving onto my collarbone, strong, strong hands, how did he cross the room so quickly, when did he get this close...

The same hands that used to angrily push me away when I'd infiltrate his mind, the ones that grappled with mine the first night we met, the same ones that pulled me back onto my feet after all my falls in the Danger Room.

But this time I will them to stay, beg them not to go, and they don't, and I don't even need to force them to, they hold me, and pull me closer and closer until I don't think I can be any closer, but I want to be, and that irritatingly cocky smile touches mine, touches my neck...

My first comprehensible thought is that Erik Lehnsherr could be gentle. Of course, as soon as I've discovered this, he's pushing me back, back into the wall, moving me so my shoulder blades don't jam into the tacks on the wall. Gruff but gentle. I suppose that epitomizes him.

He stops teasing at my neck for a second and looks up, his grin growing. "Would you stop thinking for a couple of seconds? _Verdammt._ You'd think I was testing you."

I recoil, banging my stupid head on the map of the world behind me.

"A-are you?"

He throws his head back in laughter, and my legs buckle at the sound of it as I shake with my own laughter, bewildered and shaken and absolutely, unconditionally thrilled. I throw my arms around him, pulling him back in, back to me. I grab his strong shoulder blades as he strokes his fingers up and down the small of my back, our lips finding each other once again.

A kiss so wonderfully, deeply different than any other I'd shared with anyone before. Not the drunken ones at the bars, not the passionate ones with Moira on late nights after university. His heart pounds fiercely against my own, and I know, I'm sure, for the first time, that I am with the right person, and that he thinks that, too.

And I didn't even have to feel his mind to think that. Just his tongue down my throat.

I burst into laughter, peeling myself off of him, laughing so hard I can barely breathe, and I try to stop, terrified he'll think it's his fault. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting like a fool against the it, looking up at him in his entirety.

But he smiles, and sits on the floor with me.

"Sorry," I choke between fits of hysteric giggles. "It's me, not you, I just..." Giddiness bursts in my chest and I nearly blow snot out of my nose as I bang my head on my knees. "I thought I've been waiting for something for a long time, but I wasn't sure for what. I guess that...that was it." I beam at him, undescribably happy.

But his eyebrows furrow, and my delight starts to fade. "You _guess_ so? Do you need me to convince you more? Here," he says, rolling forward to kiss me more.

Once we're thoroughly entangled on the floor, someone knocks frantically on the door.

Suddenly, he's pulled away, dragged me onto my feet, and shoved me into the opposite wall. Something burns inside of me as Erik turns away. I choke out his name, confused, and he whips around. A theory tugs at the back of my mind, but suddenly, I'm dismissing it as shame, dismissing our embrace as nothing more than an wild and stupid lunge at something neither of us wanted, something we only grabbed at in a whirl of emotions when we were at our lowest points.

I feel sick as I watch Erik stagger backward, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. Here I am, swallowing my pride, while Erik stands there, fighting something much larger than I've ever experienced.

I watch his eyes, watch as panic takes hold. His PTSD claws at him from the inside out. I try to shove into his mind before he succumbs to his rage and sorrow, but I'm too late to save him.

I guess that's just a common thing with me. Some superhero.

Torture, gold stars, shrieks of hopelessness rack my mind and tear holes in my heart. An image of Erik's mother, bleeding from the inside out flits through our mind, and before I can help it, an image of my mother bending over and chastising me for not shutting up passes through. The image rips apart and turns into something else, back to the barren hellhole, body stacked upon body, two men, a flash of pink, then red, the darkest red I've ever seen, spilling out of them, spilling from their innocent hearts...

My shame and his fury collide into a blinding cascade, and as I reach for him, he slams me back into the bookshelf. I look up at him, breathing heavily. Tears stream down his face, and my own vision blurs.

I open my mouth, holding my hands out in a desperate apology, drawing my own mind out from his. His rage fades into horror at what he's done, his face breaks into something so desolately sad that my heart cracks a bit more.

"I'm fine," he blurts.

"That's not enough," I gasp. "Holding it in means nothing, Erik."

"I said I'm fine," he snaps quietly, fingers twitching at his sides, though at this point more in restraint than with the urge to hurt me again.

"Let me help you," I whisper. He shakes his head, and the door continues to shake, and I hear Raven's shouting on the other side.

"In a moment," I growl at her. But she continues to bang on it. I let Erik turn his back to the door before wiping my eyes dry and ripping open the door, ready to yell her away, the only way she ever really shuts up and leaves.

"Did I teach you nothing about bloody closed doors, Raven? They mean-"

"Yes, yes! Whatever! Come look at the news, now. It's huge." She spins around and starts down the hallway, before whipping back around. "It's bad," she adds almost thoughtfully, as if it's just a somewhat useful side note.

Every part of my body screams at me to turn back to Erik, to say something, apologize, but I fight it, and head after Raven. We find everyone nearing panic in the sitting room, frenetically yet silently pacing back and forth, gnawing on fingernails, the manic din of the television pounding waves of heat through my disoriented mind.

I pace uneasily for a few moments during the commercials until Moira shoots me an annoyed glare, and I settle on the arm of the couch next to Bobby, who smiles at me reassuringly. The news channel flickers back on, and everyone falls still.

"A group of malicious mutants-"

Logan immediately starts grumbling about alliteration so I chuck a pillow at his head which lands its target with a satisfying poof.

"...in Hartsdale, seen harrassing a group of university students, even going so far as to threaten their lives. Fortunately, the local police force moved in and scared them away, and the students got away unharmed. The mutants quickly fled, and haven't been spotted since. We are going to issue a warning for various areas..."

"Harstdale? Charles, that's, like, a mile away from here," Raven says, tugging on a strand of hair.

"The distance isn't what matters. The fact that they were hassling college students...that means they were looking for us."

Everyone falls silent.

"The fact that they all got out alive means they told them."

A grainy image of a group of mutants walking down a street flashes onto the screen before something lashes out and blows up the camera.

"So, like, what?" Alex blurts, throwing his hands up. "Are they gonna show up in a white van like a bunch of pedophiles and-"

"Shut up, Alex," Scott snaps, shoving his brother's head into his knees. Alex slaps him on the wrist, swearing at him.

"I wasn't finished. We have the advantage, don't we? I mean we've got upper ground and we know the territory, so what do we have to worry about?"

Erik throws his head back in laughter, a chill racing down my spine, panic starting to take hold. "Absolutely nothing, we'll just perform our highly successful maneuvers we nailed down in the Scary Room."

"The Danger Room," Hank mutters diffidently. I hazard a glance in Erik's direction. He's rolling his eyes.

For a minute we listen to the news cast. "What do you think, Dan? How should we handle this mutant threat?"

Dan sighs dramatically, tapping his papers on the gray desk beneath him. "Annihilation. How on earth can we trust them with the immense power they have? What if they join the wrong side? The Soviets? What if they got a hold of the mutants?"

"We're not weapons," Jean hisses. "We're also not traitors. What do they think we're going to do, just show up and wreak havoc?!"

A dark blue flash bursts in front of the television, and for a second I thought the television had exploded. But it's just the impeccably timed Kurt. He stumbles into the TV with a quick curse in German and Kitty leaps across the couch into my arms. As Logan puts him on his own two feet, I whisper that it's going to be just fine.

"Easy there, bub," Logan growls. I sigh, wishing I could point out to Kurt this is Logan's way of apologizing, but Kurt brushes off Logan.

"Sorry, sorry, sir. The bad guys, the Mr. Shaw, I heard them outside infirmary, I jumped here...there is man like me, he can move like me, they will be here soon. They are searching for you people." Logan puts a firm hand on his shoulder as the room explodes into his chaos.

Kurt looks pained, not fully healed. He's trying to say something.

"Hey!" I shout to everyone. Kurt jumps on the opportunity.

"They have friend, Peter. As prisoner."

"Great. Now we can't even fight back because they'll slit the kids throat. Wonderful." Erik strides across the room and kicks the TV onto the floor. "Just shut up, everyone, shut up. Be as quiet as possible. We could evacuate." He meets my gaze. It takes a lot to hold it.

I don't have long to decide. Jean and Scott agree with Erik. Logan demands we hold our ground. Kurt begs us to save his friend. I'm shocked Erik chose to flee.

They all seem to have made their decisions, yet no one does anything, except stare at me. What? Am I the innate leader?

I'm not sure I like the idea.

"Let's leave," I say. "But hang on. We're not splitting up. We'll have strength in numbers. These windows to our left lead out the back of the house. If we head quick through the garden, there's a back gate that will lead us to the road. If we follow the road to the right, we'll go into town, which we don't want." I make a gesture to my left, trying to get the words out of my cracked throat. "If we go left, we'll head down a long, winding road, and we can decide what to do from there. Unless I'm mistaken, Moira has contacts, people that can help."

I swallow and look at her. She looks at me expectantly, then quickly hides her worry. "Um, right. Hopefully."

"There's got to be someone that believes in us," Raven says quietly.

A loud bang echoes in the hallway outside the door. I clamp a hand on Kitty's mouth and everyone sucks the air out of the room, sharp and uncomfortable.

It's futile. You can't hide a room full of people forever.

I silently pick up Kitty and shuffle her to the back of the living room, shoving her behind the polished mahogany bar.

 _Do not move, no matter what. You will be in so much trouble if you move._ She looks up at me with watery brown eyes. _I promise, we'll all be fine. Okay?_

I screw my face up in concentration and start to fight my way into everyone's minds, but suddenly, something stabs through my mind, a silvery flash, a visual embodiment of the searing pain that tears at my skull. I stagger forward and slam into the couch, trying to fight the extra presence off in my mind. God, is this what it feels like for everyone?

I'm caught off guard. Who has this power, besides Jean? Who could possibly match my own?

I shout in frustration, and the door flies open. The unbearable pain, the maddening burden of submission lessens, and my mind is my own again. I look up, gasping for breath.

"I'm a big fan of your methods, Charles Xavier," the woman says. In a moment of lethargy I think it's Raven, what with the thick blonde hair and curvy figure. Her eyes are apathetic, bored, as she scans the room, and comes around the couch to me, tipping my chin up to face her. "I think I might just have to quote you, in fact. What was it you said to him?" Her eyes flick up to Erik. "You're not alone...was that it? Hm. Yes, well, you arrogant bastard, you're not the only telepath."

I catch it this time. The flare of her pupils, tilt of her head, her jaw clenching. I feel the pressure in again, but it's useless, her rage against my control, my experience. I fend her back easily and rise to my feet, shoving her off and whirling on Shaw.

Who happens to be on the floor, strangling Erik. It's been thirty seconds, honestly. He'd already flung himself at Shaw and ended up beneath him.

Fortunately, Shaw's mature in his age. He pins Erik down with a cold laugh that makes Erik writhe in remembered panic.

"Herr Lehnsherr!" he says. "Your temper hasn't changed at all."

"What can I say, Seb," Erik grunts with strangled laughter. "I always did like being on the bottom."

Shaw twists Erik's wrist with no reaction, and sneers. He stretches to his feet. Erik brushes off his pride and stands up, swaying, refraining from going at Shaw again. Shaw crinkles his eyes in pleasure, adjusting his white tuxedo and smoothing his hair back. Erik steps in between the boys and Shaw, his fists clenched.

"I think we can come to a peaceful agreement here, friends." I quietly move Raven behind me and stand next to Erik, careful not to show any reaction. "And by we, I mean the mature adults of the group, not the children." Shaw shoots a blatantly condescending smile at Erik, who scowls so loudly it echoes around the room.

"Well, if you're looking for an invitation," Moira says, crossing in front of an agitated Raven and drawing up next to me. "This is it. Let's hear it."

The woman in white sighs. "Cute. I can smell the sexual tension. We're not dealing with children, Sebastian, we're dealing with hormonal teenagers."

"So is that what you came all this way for? To exchange witty banter?" As soon as I speak, I notice the incongruity in their ambush group, way in the back. Someone squirming, someone not there of their free will. Peter. Another boy holds Peter's hands behind his back, wicked blond hair and an entitled smirk. I don't understand how the other boy is holding Peter back; he's large and has robust muscles.

When I scan his arms, I see burns in the shape of fingers along his biceps. The kid can control fire.

I want to look at the others, try to figure out their powers, but I can't get distracted.

"You came here to talk to us." I gesture to the adults in the room, kind enough to even point at Logan, who looks taken aback. "Not the kids. They leave. They have no part in this."

The white woman rolls her eyes, drawing pictures in the dust atop the television. Shaw strokes her hand with the back of his, looking almost thoughtful. "Pyro here is only eighteen. Is he a child? I wouldn't think so. As a ten year old, he watched his parents open the front door only to be gunned down by two ignorant police officers. He barely got away with his life. Were your parents mutants, Pyro?"

The boy holding Peter grins slowly, but there's nothing happy about his smile. "Nope."

Shaw turns back to face us, watching our faces. "Were their deaths your fault?"

Pyro plays with us. "Hm...no, nope, I don't think so," he says slowly.

Shaw purses his lips and nods thoughtfully. "Pyro's not really a boy anymore, would you say so, Charles?"

I remain unmoving, a statue, as placid as I've seen Erik before. "Killing innocent people won't bring them back."

"That's not what we're looking for," a low voice hisses from the corner. Everyone turns to look at the man in the corner, red in his entirety, a pointed tail leering hungrily in our direction. "We want power over them. If a few get killed along the way...oh well."

"Thank you, Azazel." Shaw puts his hands out in a welcoming gesture. "You don't want to kill them? Fine, whatever, don't." He sighs. "It's more inconvenient, but if that's what it takes...anyway. Think about it. We've given them time with power, we've let them rule with their silly dictatorships and cute little democracies, made them think they were prosperous and powerful and competent. You see where that's gotten us. Two global wars, genocides, and now weapons of mass destruction."

"Well thank God you don't have that on your conscience," Erik says. A string pulls between them, taut, fraying in the middle. It's nearly visible enough that I can walk up and pull on it until a loud twang zips through the thick air. Their words are filled with the tension, silent tension festered for years, dormant until now, unspoken threats and memories threatening to ruin us all. Erik is on the verge of breaking. I'm desperate to bring him back.

Shaw clenches his jaw, biting down on Erik's comment, swallowing down his own. "We couldn't even trust them with their fellow man. Us. Look what they've done. Murdered innocent parents, innocent children who have barely even discovered their powers. Even people using their power for good. It's our turn to-"

"You fail to realize that they're afraid." I feel childish interrupting, but I surge forward. "We don't have much to fear, therefore we don't have much reason to retaliate. Humans reveal their greatest fallacies when they're scared. They're only hunting us down as a means to feel safe, to protect their own children and innocent citizens. I assure you, once we prove that we can handle our powers, most of them will see reason."

I'm surprised the room has stayed this civilized for this long. I feel growing hostility radiating off of the boys behind me and I know everyone is itching for each other's throats. "Oh, but Charles, we have everything to fear. They've started in on new weapons, designed just to kill us. Ways to destroy everything that makes us different. Special. Isn't that what you advocate?"

"He- _we_ -advocate equality," a quiet voice pops up behind me. I turn slightly, and give Raven an encouraging look. She nods at me.

"Then you all should be wise enough to realize we won't achieve that until we're in power. Then we set the laws, we set regulations against harming mutants."

I groan inwardly, trying to choose one potential problem out of thousands to address. "Then there will be division. Factions. Mutant facilities and human facilities. Sound familiar? How did that turn out last time? Besides, it's not the individuals that are the problem, really. It's the position of power. We're inherently good. In positions of power, we tend to abuse it, punishing all the wrong people. Which, I believe, brings us full circle. You are, in fact, breaking the law, using your powers to infringe on our safety and threaten us."

Something shifts. I flick my eyes to the old grandfather clock in the corner. The hand clicks to the hour, and a chime rings out. It's been almost exactly five minutes since I hid Kitty behind the bar. The ghost of their plan tugs at the back of the mind. Spend five minutes convincing us to join. Attack when they refuse. Everyone rustles uneasily, cracks their knuckles. Fear boils in my stomach.

"Funny. Emma here called you arrogant," Shaw says. The woman in white smiles at me proudly. "I just think you're ignorant. You shoot down our plans, but do you have any of your own? Some sort of harmonious society?" Pyro shuffles from foot to foot, annoyed, but Shaw's given me a chance. I fumble for words, but the truth is, I haven't thought of anything. I clamp my mouth shut. They snicker at me.

"Unfortunately, if you aren't with us, you're against us. And therefore, you're going to have to remove you as a threat. So, you either join us, or we destroy you."

"Easier said than done," Logan sneers, his claws shooting out. Shaw holds up a hand.

"Easy there, tiger. I was serious. Does anyone want to join us?" He holds out his hand, standing on his tiptoes, trying to make eye contact with the kids behind me. Raven twitches behind me, and for a sick moment I think she's going to join.

A second later, she's walking past me, taking unsteady steps, shooting me an undecipherable look. "I will," she squeaks, taking Shaw's hand. My jaw drops.

"R-raven," I splutter. "You can't be serious."

Shaw squeezes her hand, and spins her around. She faces me, pale.

"Raven Darkholme. Welcome to the Brotherhood."

She flushes dark red, color flowing into a face contorted with annoyance. The devious look of mischief I'm so terribly used to floods her eyes, which nearly roll back ino her skull. "That's so sexist."

She rears her foot back and kicks Shaw in the crotch like she'd practiced on Sean in the Danger Room.

He crumples to the ground, and the room explodes.

Kurt jumps into the air above Pyro and drops on top of him before he has time to react. I watch them wrestle for Peter before I move over to Raven, standing back to back with her.

"This is so much cooler than when we did this as little kids," she says in unfathomable awe.

"Ah, yes, the added smell of war and blood heightens the experience tenfold," I reply, delivering a barbaric punch into Azazel's stomach, who'd appeared seconds earlier. Unfortunately, the blow only half connects, what with the way he suddenly disappears, and I'm off-balance. I hear a pop behind me, and know I'm done for. His foot connects with my back and my face drives into the floor.

My eyes water furiously, but I spin onto my back and leap up and forward, tackling him into Raven. She swears at me as our weight bears down on her, but he disappears quickly, and we're left to disentangle ourselves from each other.

I grab her and step back from the fray, trying to form a loose strategy.

It's clear they trained a lot more together. That, or they're just more vicious. Some of them are going in for the kill, and fortunately not landing it. They move with a visceral fluidity, sending a chill down my spine.

I whip an ashtray off the coffee table behind me and hurl it at a mutant's head. It hits the back of her skull, and she spins to face me. Hank kicks her firmly in the back and she flies halfway across the room, her wings moving too slowly to catch her. I give Hank a thumbs up before Raven grips my wrist.

"What do we do? They're going to kill us!"

"It's like the American Revolution," I say, expecting her to understand. She looks so annoyed in that moment I was one hundred percent sure she could've shrieked louder than Sean. I speak quickly before she does. "The British were too structured, the Americans were barbaric but quick and rather effective...we have to move quick and hard."

She nods, but I know we're both stuck. Raven's a fluid fighter, highly dextrous, but not entirely strong. I'm quick and smart, but again, easily overpowered.

"Quick and hard," she mutters, raising her fists. "That's what your mom said."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "You literally, _literally,_ never pass up the opportunity to make sexual jokes about my mother. That's all you ever do."

"Your mom's all I ever do."

"Raven, I swear to-"

Alex points at me and screams, "DOWN!"

I slam onto the floor as a fireball whizzes over my head, countered by a blast from Alex, which spins wildly out of control and sets the left wall ablaze. The  satanic Tinkerbell girl flies over my head, straight toward him. I leap up and grab her ankle, pulling down hard. She slams into the ground, completely vulnerable, but I vow to stop there. She couldn't be more than eighteen years old.

Alright. Time to be useful. "Charles needs to be careful" my ass.

I check to make sure Logan isn't cutting anyone up like a turkey before searching for Erik, who's beating Pyro to a pulp. It isn't until right now I realize we outnumber them, and we've nearly beaten them down.

Wishful thinking. The only wall that doesn't seem to be on fire shatters to the floor and Cain, accompanied by a smug green chap in a leather jacket, enters the scene. He's broken out.

I moan preemptively as Cain charges.

This time, though, I manage to dive to the left and land out of harm's way on the couch as Cain rumbles past me and slams into the flaming wall. Ha!

I adjust my collar smugly before something wet and thick wraps around my wrist and I nearly gag up half my breakfast. My jaw drops further and further as it registers that the whip encircling my wrist is not a whip but in fact a tongue,  a long tongue, a...

Frog tongue. The tongue, with uncharacteristic strength, pulls me up and over its owner's head and through the hole in the wall Cain had just entered from. I skid into Raven's bedroom, trying not to uproot the carpet, because her wrath will be ten times worse than whatever I'm about to face.

"Toad. Don't think we've met." Toad looms above me, scaly and slimy, his long tongue skittering in and out of his mouth. I try to hide my disgust. Adopting the characteristics of a frog. Finally, a mutant power to add to my list of powers I would not like to have.

He rears back to kick me, but I move fast. I jump up, grab his foot, and flip him onto his back. It feels foreign, this violence. Before each blow, I falter, nearly stopping, the idea of hurting a boy so sickening I almost can't follow through, but I think of Kitty hiding behind the bar, and I drive my heel into hs rib bones with a satsifying crack. I press down so he doesn't roll away.

I shift so my knee jams onto his chest, and despite my disgust, I lean in. "Don't make me do anything else," I say. He just laughs.

I forgot about that damn tongue.

Soon enough it's around my throat, and I can practically feel myself turning blue as black dots flood my vision. He pins me onto my back and kneels on my chest, his hands free to slug at the smug smirk on my face.

He returns the favor on my rib and I convulse beneath him, desperate for oxygen, for an escape plan.

Everything suddenly seems turned upside down.

My body has failed me; it's useless. I'm suffocating, nearly out of breath. My hands are too shaky and busy clawing at the tongue to help me. His weight is on my useless legs, which are numb anyway.

Only my mind remains. My power. Useful in its entirety.

In the best reenactment of the stabbing pain Emma had sent through my mind earlier, I flood Toad's thoughts, shove in despite his well-defended mind, imagine knives, sirens, my nails clawing from the inside out.

It works. He wails, almost croaking, though maybe that's my imagination, and rears off of me. I suck in breath, then hack up blood that had gathered at the back of my throat, tears spilling down my face in the manic search for oxygen and control over my body.

I force myself onto my unsteady feet, anxious to get back to everyone else.

When I come back to the room, Shaw's men are on top. My stomach sinks as I realize Cain had managed to knock everyone down in one blow as they were focused on their own individual fights.

Hank sways on his knees as he fails to wake up an unmoving Alex. I can barely spot individual bodies, my own head is swimming so much.

I collapse onto my knees. So Britain won this round. How ironic.

Shaw has the balls to come over and look down at me, whispering, "Sorry, Charlie."

My personal Erik Lehnsherr rears up inside of me, and soon I'm clawing at his face madly, absolutely no method to my madness, just desperate to inflict some sort of pain on that unfalteringly blinding smile of his. He easily shoves me off and I fly back further than I should. I dazedly recall Erik explaining his powers to me, his ability to absorb energy and redistribute as he pleases.

I sit back up in stubborn stupidity, my head throbbing in protest. I prepare myself for another blow, but it isn't delivered.

A flash of silver, a loud thump, and a drained groan. When I'm able to hold my eyes open for longer than three seconds, my vision focuses on the sight in front of me. I scan the room. We had, by some miracle, won. I say won. It's something Sean or Alex would say, but when I look about, it fits. The Brotherhood lies on the floor, groaning and rendered useless. I move my gaze in front of me.

Kurt stands over Shaw, beating the ever living shit out of him with a lamp, a figure looming next to him, arms crossed. He looks like...

It looks like Peter had leapt into a pool of silver, gaining fifteen pounds of muscle along the way, and jumped back out. I watch as he gently pushes Kurt back, still sending the blue boy staggering cartoonishly backward, and picks up Shaw with one hand.

"You will leave," he says in a voice I would've thought is perfectly American, had Kurt not pointed out the the tinge of a Russian accent. "And you will not come back. You are a lucky man for getting away. Take your friends, and leave."

His voice is so calm I nearly fall asleep to it. I'm amazed as Shaw scrambles to his feet, visibly terrified of Peter, and runs over to his Brotherhood. Within minutes, they're all on their feet, shoving out the door they came through as dignified as possible.

Shaw stops in the doorway and turns around, pain lingering on his face. "You're only alive because we wanted you to be. We could've crushed you," he sneers, though he shoots a worried look in Peter's direction. "We'll see you all again."

He stares at Erik a moment too long. "Very, very soon."

Erik stands to his feet and shrugs, as if blood isn't running from his temple down to his shoulder, which fosters charred skin. "Sure. Tea time at two."

Shaw spins on his heels, stumbling a bit, and slams the door behind him, which happens to be falling off its hinges, and crumbles to a mocking pile at his feet. He stares at it as if he'd just dropped the last of his hopes and dreams before rushing away.

"I swear to God," Alex says loudly from the back of the room. "Our lives are a fucking comic book waiting to happen. You can't make this shit up."

Perhaps oddly timed, verging on psychotic, yet comforting all the same, we burst into laughter at the same time, clutching our sides and each other's shoulders, the feeling of being together too powerful to be afraid.


	6. Chapter Six

I wish it didn't take an ambush by superpowered terrorists to spark a tremendous improvement in our teamwork, but if that's what it does take, fine.

We hit the Danger Room the moment the last cuts on our bodies scabbed over, and a common enemy was precisely what allowed us new precision and expertise in our training. We applied the technique I'd explained to Raven when they'd attacked us. They were vicious and more keen to kill, therefore more dangerous, wild, and unfortunately stronger in some aspects. I very clearly explained that we were not to kill anyone, and everyone finally came to a reluctant agreement. The next thing to do was work on being smarter, faster, and harder.

"So," Sean says, the joke working its way onto his smirk. "Like me and Alex's mom in-"

"Yes, thank you, Sean, joke's already been made." He elbows Alex, who punches him in the crotch in response. I glare down at him as he groans inwardly on the floor. "Alex's mom and I, by the way. If you're going to be an idiot, be intelligent about it."

"And hard and quick," Alex adds, stomping on his butt.

"Stop, stop," Moira chastises, tearing the two of them apart. I snicker a bit, which warrants a glare from Moira. She's acting like a mother. I blow her a few kisses and she nearly kicks me.

We finally shut the two of them up, and start yet again on another objective. Hank has been working relentlessly on the programs, racking them up, making them harder, different, so nothing repeats itself. He also had to add some new attacks, for our new members.

Peter is spectacular. He can turn from flesh to solid steel in a second flat, and then still move his body mass with great agility. Even better, him and Kurt work in perfect unison after years of practice on the streets fighting off gangs and police officers. Kurt learns to jump with Peter, and can even take up to three people with him now. It took a while to get them to trust us, and to speak up, but as Bobby pointed out one night while I pretended to be interested in the football game, it feels like they've been here from the beginning.

After a few grueling hours, we head to the kitchen for lunch. 

"So Kurt, what's the best place you've snuck into?" Alex asks, heading up the stairs ahead of the rest of us. Kurt rubs at the back of his neck, grinning weakly. I imagine he would be blushing, had he not been blue. Alex punches him in the shoulder. "Come on. Don't tell me you never got bored. Or curious."

He looks quickly behind him, and I pretend not to be listening. But he's smart. He keeps quiet and continues up the stairs. 

Alex swears loudly. I draw up into the kitchen next to him. There are two of him in the kitchen, one making sandwiches and one standing next to Kurt with his hands tossed in the air. Sandwich Alex turns around and puts his hand on his hip, waving the knife around with a tinge of feminine disposition. "You told me to make you a sandwich. So I am. Suck on that."

Alex spins around the counter, but his counterpart holds the butter knife out as a warning. "Look at me, I'm Alex, I can't make a sandwich because I'm too afraid to hold anything in my hands that's longer than my penis. Woe is me." 

"Raven," I groan, trying not to laugh. Alex pulls hard on a strand of hair at the base of Sandwich Alex's neck, who yelps in pain. Raven abruptly shifts back to a girl and whips around, shoving Alex into the fridge. 

"Know why I changed back? Because I can kick your ass like this better than I could as you." 

Alex just shakes his head, smiling. "Damn you. Is that one mine, woman?" 

She stabs a knife through the sandwhich he'd been reaching for and waves it in his face. "Now it is. Jerk."

Alex hastily bites it off of the knife, wiggling his eyebrows at Raven, who scowls and turns back around. "Asshole."

"Excuse me, Raven?" I say. She whips around and gives me an annoyed look. The 'we're the same age look so don't give me that.' I manage a most condescending glare and she grits her teeth. 

"I said, 'Grass bowl,'" she hisses. Sean shoulders past me and grabs at a sandwich. Between bites I could only fathom a teenage boy might manage, his eyes light up with what I recognize is the sign of an oncoming joke.

"Sass troll," he suggests. 

"Brass pole," Alex says.

"Crass soul," I say, glowering at Raven. "Alright. We'll meet back down in the bunker in two hours, got it?"

A few half-indulged grunts answers me. "Got it?" I say slowly to Alex and Sean.

"Do you think fluff or peanut butter sticks better to the ceiling?"

"I don't know, but for the love of God, if you're going to try and figure it out, do it in your rooms, not this one." I fight the urge to roll my eyes and decide on a walk. 

I set off down the winding path through the northern woods, my breath a blatant reminder of my lack of proficiency in the meterology field. Multitudes of branches of science fascinate me but I'd rather get struck by lightning that focus on meteorology. I could've sworn today was supposed to be clear, but I hadn't the patience to finish reading the forecast this morning, and here I am, strolling under the ominous weight of gray clouds and sharp wind. 

I try not to stress out about everything I'm walking away from, but thoughts inevitably flood my mind. Should we really take the fight to them? Should we wait for them to attack us here, in our dominion? That didn't turn out too nicely last time. What do we do if we lose? Go into hiding? Form a stronger alliance with the federal authorities? They don't seem too keen to assist, not according to Moira's connections.

Moira. She only reminds me of what's to happen moving forward. I may not note the dewpoint every morning but I'd be a true fool not to notice the way she looks at me between training sessions, or across the table at breakfast, the way she eyes Erik...

Erik. I don't even know what to think of him. His thirst for revenge, blood, his maddeningly endearing personality despite it all. I think I hate him. I hate him like the four year old I am. Jesus. A declivity in maturity and awareness of the weather. I'm a mess.

And what would happen if we defeated Shaw? The kids wouldn't be the same. They aren't even now, not after the ambush. Everyone leaps up at the slightest loud sound. Sean and Alex's fistfights had become much more visceral, and much less playful, more like the boys were aiming for each other's throats rather than their chins and shoulders. Kitty is virtually terrified by everything. Bobby and Hank seem lost as to what their morals are these days. Peter and Nightcrawler work hard but seem more interested in shying away from it all rather than fighting. 

The wind nips at my ears and I pull my collar up to cover them. I don't like to admit to having any materialistic affinities, but my father's leather jacket warms me from the inside out. The next strong breeze throws a memory into me.

_It's a nice day in the woods, if not a tad cold. Dad had promised Mum and I that it'd only be a short walk. He's hellbent on teaching me medicinal purposes of various fungi in the forest, but at the moment, my stomach's more inclined to Mom's soup than the rather repulsive Reishi mushrooms oozing from the thick trees._

_"See this one, Charles?" I manage not to grimace as my dad peels off a squishy layer of brown mush, but only because he's so enthusiastic about it all. I love how excited he is. "The constituents in this help build bone marrow. Do you know what that means?"_

_I stammer out a few stupid guesses. His smile widens with my every attempt. He says, "Not quite..." and launches into a simplified version, devoid of any condescending remarks, his saving grace in raising a son entirely passionate about science. I don't pay much attention, medicinal mushrooms weren't of much interest. I can only really think about that book Dad had gotten for me that is waiting for me on my night stand, something called mut...mutations..._

_Alright, so I'm mostly thinking about how cold I am. It's freezing in these bloody woods. I think about being smart and asking Dad if there any actually useful mushrooms, like ones that made people warmer, but that would make him disappointed, I think._

_"Are you cold, Charles?" he asks, looking away from the Reishi mushrooms. I nod sheepishly. He sidles over with the grace of a man who knows his every step, every dip in the ground beneath his feet, and the next thing I know, I'm wearing his thick leather jacket, as black as the rotting lichen beneath my feet._

_He laughs, and I smile up at him. "When your mum first bought this for me, I told her I'd never take it off, not until the day I died."_

_"That's a silly promise," I say, blissfully unaware of the fat line between literalism and figurativism. He shakes his head and smiles again._

_"Yes, well, here I am, giving this jacket to you. Do you know what that means?"_

_I shake my head._

_He hesitates, flustered, then gives one last small smile. "It means your mother is going to hide both of our asses and turn us into jackets if we don't get back for dinner in time."_

I've always hoped he meant that he loves me more than he loves the jacket, or his promise to Mum, or those ugly mushrooms. 

I wonder if one of those mushrooms could've saved his life. 

The jacket starts to feel cold. I zip it up all the way and walk faster, looking up at the leaves, rather than down at those bloody mushrooms. I walk slower, pounding my feet into the hard ground, from toe to heel, forcing the cold to seep through every inch, focusing on the numbness spreading through my legs. 

Just when I think I could get used to the sensation, a twig snaps behind me and a little too much warmth spreads through me.

"With all the grace of a dancer, my dear," I say through gritted teeth, spinning on my prickled toes to face Erik, who's prodding a mushroom with his toe. 

"I'm quieter than a mouse most days. I just figured stepping on a twig would be a nice alert." 

"A nice alert as to what, the fact  that you're stalking me?" 

Erik picks up the twig he'd snapped in half and twirls it ruminatively between his fingertips. "Yes, how odd that we'd run into each other within a few acres of property, both of us having the prerequisite knowledge that the other is living here."

I let out a huff of breath. I feel foolish as a cloud of white spurts out of my mouth and dissipates in front of me, distorting Erik's shape in front of me before revealing him once again, clear as ever. "It's not a few acres. It's thirty-three."

He spits in laughter, doubling over, then rearing up and between gasps, "Well excuse me, Your Highness. Christ. Thirty-three?" I shrug. "You're starting to talk like one of the kids, you know that?"

"You're starting to talk like the enemy."

He chips at the bark on the nearest tree with his chipped nails, refusing to meet my gaze. "You just made that up. I'm not talking like anyone. Except myself. Are you inferring I'm the enemy?"

"Well, you're trailing behind me, for starters, instead of confronting me. Your means of getting my attention, like stepping on a twig, can translate to passive aggression. And-"

"Uh, I wouldn't classify what Shaw does as 'passive aggression,' Doctor."

"...and you're still as bloodthirsty as ever, you've just gotten better at hiding it. Well," I say, gaining confidence as I know I've got him. "You think you've gotten better at hiding it."

"You're a prying prick. You've gotten good at getting past the very mental defenses you've taught us to keep up against the other telepath, but you're still shit at making it unperceptible. But never mind that, I'm not here to talk about our apparent trust issues."

"Mmm. Right, well. I didn't go on a walk so I could talk to you and gain more gray hairs every second. I can't talk about strategems or ethics or plans another second. I think I might rather gouge my eyeballs out than go back to the training room. Thanks, but no thanks."

"Danger Room," Erik says, his long legs stretching in a powerful stride until he's crossed the distance between us and draws up next to me.

"I...what?"

"You said training room. I'm pretty sure the term is 'Danger Room.'"

I set my jaw as he juts his chin out. "I know that," I snap. 

"Do you know what talk is up there?" Erik nods his head toward the house. I give a terse shake of my  head. He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"No, Erik, bloody hell, I don't spend my free time browsing everyone's brains, you know. Don't you do things besides bend spoons?"

"Not really," he says, smirking as I roll my eyes and try to sidestep him. "Anyways, me and Moira-"

"Moira and I."

A beat.

"So, me and Moira were talking, and we agreed that we'd better take the fight to Shaw. Moira said we should wait to discuss further plans because you're-- _you apostrophe R-E_ \--on a walk. So, thank Moira for that one."

"Because God knows you would've written a floor plan for Shaw's execution chambers right then and there, yes."

Erik licks his lips. Not that I notice.

"God doesn't seem to be aware of most things, Charles. Look where we are."

"Yeah, a bunch of children to love and a group of friends more loyal and unified than I've ever seen. The Lord has placed us in the throne room of the seventh circle of hell."

The breeze. The squelch of mushrooms as Erik shifts his weight from foot to foot. Left, right, left, right, uncomfortable, _Charles is right, what am I saying_ , get out of his head, damnit.

"I wouldn't attribute my ridiculous amount of good fortune to an arbitrary and existential fictional character." 

"Nor would I. But I also wouldn't attribute all of this to good fortune."

Erik drops his gaze, shaking his head, frustrated. He thinks I don't understand.

"Erik."

He lifts his head for a moment. "Erik, you've been fighting a battle much different than the one we're forging against Shaw for many, many years. Now you're using your experience to protect these children from an evil greater than they've known." I don't know where these words are coming from, but I feel the sudden need to console him. He couldn't look further away from crying, but his eyes are so light and vulnerable, so fearful. 

After everything. He's more afraid of himself than anything.

" _Your_ experience, not Shaw's. You are not defined by conflict. Your courage, your wit, your urge to be a good man. Yours. You- _no-apostrophe-R-S_."

" _Your_ pick-up lines are atrocious," he says, grinning sideways.

"That wasn't a pick-fuck. Fuck you. _You're_ an idiot."

"You are too impossibly perfect to resist. And I was stupid to ever think otherwise."

I'm suddenly hot, and I tug my collar down. "Er, uh, yeah. Uh. What?"

"I love it when _you're_ speechless."

I stammer out nonsense, then smack my lips shut, and throw myself into him, hugging him, then kissing him, laughing into him. After a long, long, strong hug, more revitalizing than the pounds and pounds of painkillers I've been downing the past few grueling weeks, we pull away, smiling.

"Charles, I'm sorry. I guess we...we have to do this, eh? Completely together."

I nod. "Yes, completely together." Deep breath. Swallow pride. "I'm sorry, too." The breeze slows.

"Hey Charles?"

"What, Erik?"

He opens his mouth, the gleam in his eyes betraying him before anything else, the gleam I love more than I love the dessicated mushrooms beneath my feet, and we utter his thought at the same time.

" _You're_ forgiven." He glares at me.

"Aw, fucking telepath."

"Well," I say, my mind so jumbled and my  heart pounding so quickly my tongue can barely follow my next words. "If that's what you so desire."

Erik doesn't let a second between us. "Two hours until we meet back up, you said?"

"About an hour, at this point."

"Ah."

Dead silent.

"D'you think that's enough time-"

"Without a trace of doubt."

"Right."

He unzips my leather jacket with a crooked grin and the wiggle of his fingers, a concrete intimation of the future, before barreling out of the woods and toward the house, his feet following the familiar path to the back bedroom, leaving me breathless at his heels.

***

Gasping, sweaty, and strewn on the floor, the X-Men, as Kitty had proposed we call ourselves, desperately try to catch our breath after the fifth subsequent round of brutal Danger Room beatings. 

"Hank!" Alex's shouts are muffled, laying facedown with his face pressed into the ground, blood pouring out of his nose. "Press another fucking button on your stupid remote and I will slit your throat."

Someone moans loudly from across the room. "I don't have the energy to press a button," Hank groans. Alex sticks up a middle finger in content concurrence. 

I force myself to my aching feet and move over to help Alex up. Blood seeps down his chin, coating his brand new yellow and blue optic-blast-proof uniform in slick red mucus. I tilt his head back and brush his matted hair out of his forehead, offering him my sleeve to mop up some of the blood. He whimpers about swallowing more of his blood than his saliva and I sit him down against the wall. Moira draws up next to us, putting one hand on my back and the other rubbing Alex's knee reassuredly. 

"You're really covered in blood, honey."

"Had no idea," he sighs, his huff of breath spurting out more blood. "I'll just get Raven to do the laundry for me. She's a girl."

"Just because you're crying like a pussy doesn't mean I won't hesitate to beat the hell out of you," she shouts from the other side. I run my fingers through Alex's hair and give him a final pat before leaving him in Moira's care. 

"Is everyone else okay?" Jean asks, weaving through the mass of wailing bodies to the back, where Kitty sits crying. I walk over and scoop Kitty up, kissing her scraped hands and forehead and tell her how brave she is. We find Bobby out cold in the back right corner, and Hank sets to work on him. Most everyone else is alright.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to demand such a rigorous practice out of everyone, but I'd say we handled it well. No casualties, that's always reassuring. I stride over to Erik, who's crouched with his head between his knees. He'd taken a nice blow to the ribs. I bend down to him, balancing Kitty on my hip, but he starts to stand, waving me away. I grip his wrist and pull him up despite his reluctance. He looks at me he looks up at me with reproachful gratitude, steadying himself on me.

Scott helps Logan up. "You alright, buddy?"

Logan retracts his claws, hands caked with blood, wincing slightly. "I'm good. I'm well," he adds, shooting a look over at me. "You, bub?"

Scott smirks at Logan. "Fine, bub. Thanks. Good to know the greatest lesson we got out of all of this is better individual grammar."

"Shut up, Scott," I say with a laugh. He winks at me. 

As Scott turns around to embrace Jean in front of a flustered Logan, Erik finally gains his composure, delivering a swift pinch to my ass as he pushes off of my shoulder. I whirl on him, my jaw working itself over, trying not to slap him across the face.

"Am I-"

"Don't even think about saying it, Erik," I hiss.

"Am I thinking about it? Am I?" he teases. I shake my head in indignation, flushing from head to toe.

"Say it."

"I'm not saying it, you-"

"Oh, there you go, you almost said it...p-p-p...pa..." Erik elbows my aching side.

"PAIN IN MY ASS," I shout. 

"Watch your fucking language," Sean screams from his sprawled position on the floor.

"Get up, smartass." I scowl. Sean sits up with a wild grin on his face, his bright red hair defying gravity in ways I never could've imagined. I try to give him a disappointed glare, but the ease at which he hops to his feet after being beaten senselessly dissipates with my resolve and I'm left grinning at the kids, my kids, and everything that makes them who and what they are. 

To think I used to believe this house would never be filled with a true family after Dad died.

"I feel like if someone walked in here right now they would think we just had an orgy," Sean says sincerely. Alex raises his hand.

"Wouldn't that involve both beastiality and incest?"

"I wouldn't screw you if you paid me." Scott leans up against the wall next to him and frowns down at Alex. Alex grins up at him.

"Course not. I never said you needed to be my escort to fuck me." Everyone groans inwardly. 

"Charles," Kitty asks, running a finger down my jawline, deep in thought. "What's a-"

"Nothing, Kitty. How many times do I have to tell you not to listen to anything Alex or Sean says?" 

They howl with laughter. Erik grips his side, shaking with pain and amusement. I tell him to sit down but he brushes me off again, folding his pain under a layer of stolid assurance. 

_You don't need to do that. Pain is only human. It might make the kids feel better to know they're not-_

He narrows his eyes at me, so I stop. 

Scott taps Alex on the shoulder. "You good?" Alex nods at him. The room falls quiet except for a few convalescing coughs and the sound of sneakers singing on the steel floor. Foreboding silence weighs down, and my arms feel heavy as Kitty squirms uncomfortably. Even she stays quiet despite her usual need to add to the conversation.

The truth is, this is nothing, nothing at all, really. Orchestrated routine, down to a science. Only slightly realistic, at best, and we're still drained. Would we ever really be ready?

One look from Erik tells me no. 

Scott clears his throat. "I think we did pretty well, given the circumstances. Why don't you guys go take a break, huh?"

Hank stands to his feet, fiddling with a strap on the chest of his uniform. "What are you all going to do?"

"I think it's self-spoken that we need to have a meeting," Scott says, shooting me an uneasy look. I open my mouth but Alex beats me to it.

"You're, like, three years older than me. I think we deserve to be included on whatever conversation the _adults_ are having."

"Someone needs to babysit Kitty," I try. 

"It doesn't take six people to watch a seven year old."

"It takes a village to raise a child."

Erik says, "Charles. Let them." Maybe he's right. Why am I being so adamant about it? Looking at them now, they're bloodied, they're beaten, but they're all right. They want to fight, too. But they're kids. Kids. I catch Hank's gaze. He nods.

"Fine. You guys can stick around for a bit, but after that, you need to rest up. It's getting late, anyway." 

Everyone grunts in reluctant agreement, and we head to the dining room.

I want to laugh at the sight of it. Feet on the polished mahogany table, the dog shedding all over the broad windowsill, Sean and Alex stabbing knives between their fingers into the table. My stepfather would've had an aneurysm. 

Some of the greatest acts of rebellions aren't intentional in the slightest.

"So, is the topic of discussion here the date we bring the fight to them?" Hank asks. Us exalted adults exchange glances. We nod in agreement.

"And what we do when we get there," Jean says.

"Where is 'there,' exactly?" Logan asks, picking his teeth with one of his claws and petting the dog with his other hand. Jean purses her lips.

"We're not exactly sure, but they can't have gone far. They wanted to come back and get us, remember. Somewhere within the vicinity. We need to formulate a diversion, or bait, whatever you want to call it." 

"How about suicide?"

No one raises a finger at Sean. He might be right.

"Well, now that you're all here, we might as well ask. Do you feel ready? Do any of you not want to join us? It's not cowardice it's...er...pacifism. Don't be ashamed. I barely want any of you to come. Actually, I don't. I don't want any of you to come. None of you deserve this."

Alex leans forward. "It's not like any of us want to go back to our lives before this. Right guys?" Everyone nods, but Peter drops his head. "Well, except Pete. He's got his sister. But even then, it's something to fight for, right? I mean, we're fighting for our own futures. I think it's important to be a part of. So, yeah. I'm going. And I'm ready. Or rather, I think I'm ready. Call me crazy, but sometimes I think that means the same thing."

Sean leans back, stretching his hands over his head and yawning in agreement. "I'm in. Let's wreak a little havoc."

Raven nods. Peter and Kurt exchange a glance and voice their agreement together. Hank mutters an "of course" and Bobby gives a solemn thumbs-up. My stomach sinks with every input.

Moira looks at all of us. "I think it's probably obvious we're all in. And ready." Scott puts an arm around Jean and they nod. Logan waves his hand with a dismissive "yes" and Erik tenses, then nods beside me. Ororo says a quiet "yes, I'm ready."

"Not everyone," I say. Alex nearly falls out of his chair. "No, not me. I mean Kitty. She's too young. Kitty?"

She looks up from curling her fingers through the hairs at the nape of my neck. "What?"

I pull her closer and kiss her on her cheek. "I hate to do this to you, but you're going to have to stay at the house with Henry for a little bit, okay? You have to keep Henry safe. That's your job, okay?"

She looks over at Henry, who wags his tail furiously at the sudden attention. "Yes, Charles! We'll protect the house together." I smile at her. 

"This week, then," Erik bursts out. He quickly looks at me apologetically. He'd been holding his excitement in this entire time, I don't blame him. I smile at him humorlessly. He swallows and tries again. "We should go sometime soon this week, before they can attack us again, when we're unprepared. Our leverage of surprise may be the only advantage we have."

Alex and Sean shout "whoaaaaa" in protest simultaneously, throwing their arms up in vexation. Bobby puts his face into his hands, torn between laughing and smacking them in annoyance. 

"Uh, excuse me, Spoonhead, pretty sure our greatest advantage is the move Sean and I have been perfecting in the Danger Room. Hank...Hank, am I right?" Alex demands.

Hank rolls his eyes with laughter. "Yeah, sure." Sean and Alex roar in agreement and high five each other just as Hank adds, "Except that the maneuver entirely throws off both of your centers of balance, allowing vulnerability from every angle which paradoxically dissipates the entire crux of the maneuver in the first place."

They fall silent.

Alex whispers a quiet, "Fuck you, Hank."

"Yeah, fuck you."

Hank pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with a satisfied smile. I give him a thumbs-up and Alex gives me a thumbs-up, too, except with a different finger. Always creative, that one.

"All right, get out. Go to bed. Dream of incestuous orgies to your hearts' content." Erik grins and waves them out the door as they argue with him. It takes Erik slapping Sean in the ass to get him out the door, and finally, the room is quiet again as Raven takes Kitty to bed.

We sit ourselves around the table, entirely somber without the kids and their gibes. A terse, awkward silence fills the room.

"So, the logistics," Jean starts, looking to Scott for reassurance. "The day and the time. Any suggestions?" Everyone turns to look at Erik, who pretends not to notice and nonchalantly fiddles with the screws on the chandelier above the table.

"Lehnsherr!" Logan snaps. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't catch it. Erik slowly brings his gaze down. 

"It's not up to me, Logan," he says with an icy calm that sends a chill through me. 

"That's funny, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be in this shithole of a mess if you hadn't shown your face around town." 

Ororo presses her lips in a thin line. "It's silly to blame this one one person, Logan. This isn't anyone's fault. Arguing over it won't get us anywhere productive. We should come to a unanimous agreement on the date." She finishes, and sits back, satisfied, waiting for someone else to pick up.

Raven enters the room timidly, shutting the door with great care so as to not make it creak like she knows it does, and sits next to me, brushing her hand against mine.

"Can we agree that tomorrow is too soon?" Moira asks. 

"Yes," I blurt, desperate to delay the inevitable bloodbath as much as possible, just as Erik snaps a "no."

We immediately turn to each other and everyone stares. "Erik-"

"Charles."

I look away in frustration, biting my lip.  

"It's majority rules, right?" Scott asks. "I say yeah, tomorrow's too soon. We're beaten up from today, anyway, and we'll probably be up all night making plans." Everyone but Erik quickly agrees, and the potent power of democracy quashes the need for revenge. I glance over at Erik, concerned, but he leans back in his chair, undefeated. He knows he's going to get what he wants, no matter what happens.

"Two days, then. That seems to make the most sense," Jean says. This time our voting is slow. Scott and Logan practically shout to get themselves heard agreeing with Jean first. Ororo crosses her arms, eyes closed. Erik runs his fingers through his hair, and I twitch toward him, itching to do that with my own hands, but he turns to Jean. 

"That would work just fine for me."

His voice sounds strained. I continue to watch him, waiting for him to look at me, but he doesn't, the stubborn fool, and goes back to playing with the chandelier. 

Ororo opens her eyes and says, calmly, "I think that seems like the only reasonable answer. I wish we didn't have to do this at all. They are our brothers and our sisters, but after what they did, and what they swore they were going to do...I believe two days is the only solution."

Moira bites the inside of her cheek and pulls a strand of hair behind her ear. "I guess that makes the most sense. Charles?"

The squeak of the screws on the chandelier suddenly becomes unbearable. I try to force Erik to stop it, but his mental defenses have gotten terribly strong, and I can't put all of my focus on him. My head starts to throb.

"Fine," I snap, more caustically than I meant to. "Yes, two days makes the most sense. We'll be fine." 

Raven slowly nods, looking at me to make sure I'm okay. I give her a tight-lipped smile. Erik snaps his gaze off of the chandelier and back down to the table, opening his mouth to move us forward, but I cut him off.

"We'll be fine _if_ everyone follows the predetermined plan and works in perfect unison and teamwork. Right, Erik?" I give him a tight,  toothy grin.

His fists strain the muscles all the way up his thick arms and up to his clenched jaw, his eye nearly twitching with the effort to not hit me. "Right, Charles," he forces through gritted teeth. 

"Easy there, Mags. We're after Shaw, not the proffessor."

"Mags? Who's Mags?" Raven pipes up. Erik narrows his eyes at her, and she looks down. 

"It's the mutt at the end of the table's term for me. Mags. Magnets. Me. Apparently he's too stupid to remember names now and has to come up with cute little nicknames to remember things."

Raven blushes furiously and Erik raises an eyebrow at her. "What, you're into that, too?"

"No, it's just...well. Actually, yes. The other day, when all of you were in here talking, we were outside playing soccer, and we decided on names for each other. Well, I didn't, I mean, Alex did. Actually, Sean started it, but..."

"Well?" Logan asks, sliding off of his perch on the windowsill next to Henry. "What's mine?"

Raven's torn between melting into a puddle of embarrassment and blurting out everyone's names. She never liked public speaking. Objectification and crude comments she could take with an open smile and a wink, but never interest in what she had to say. I feel a twist of sadness, suddenly, but it dissipates a bit when she sits up with a small smirk.

"Um, well, Logan, you're Wolverine." She starts to gain confidence, her smile growing. She points at Ororo. "You're Storm, obviously." Ororo smiles warmly. "Scott, you're Cyclops, courtesy of Alex. Jean, we called you Phoenix, because of your bright hair."

Jean grins in amusement. Raven quickly adds, "And phoenixes are really cool, and powerful. Erik, you're Magneto. Or, apparently, Mags." She ducks behind a curtain of hair, but Erik throws his head back in genuine laughter. 

"Why doesn't anyone ever attribute my mutation to my exceptionally good looks? My magnetic abilities are just a side effect."

Raven smiles, and turns to me. "And Charles, you're Proffessor X. Because...because of the X-Men."

I punch her in the arm. "So clever. And you?"

She looks thoroughly embarrassed again. "I'm Mystique."

"Dare we ask what everyone else chose for themselves?" Scott asks. 

"No, we should guess!" Moira leans forward in thought, winking at me. I smirk back.

"Sean chose a porn star name, something like... Super Dick, or something...Alex chose something ironic, something macho...hm...Hank...bless him, he probably didn't want him. Peter? Steel Man. No!" Moira's eyes light up and Erik and I crack up with laughter at how serious she's taking the whole business. "Peter should be Man of Steel."

"Oh yeah, better get that under copyright," Logan sneers with derisive laughter. Moira sticks her tongue out at him.

Raven holds up her fingers and names them off. "Sean is Banshee, Alex is Havok, Bobby is Iceman, Kurt is Nightcrawler, Peter is Colossus, and Hank is Beast."

Erik leans back, peering behind my back so he can look at Raven. He smirks. "So, like, when do we get jerseys with our names on the back?"

This time she gets the courage to lean forward and throw a punch at him, but he's too quick, flinging himself forward. The punch lands on my innocent shoulder.

"Ow! Mystique," I whine. Raven bursts out laughing, trying to tackle me out of the chair. I shove her back into her chair and pull on her hair. She pinches arm, so I blow a spit bubble in her face, completely forgetting both my age and my place. 

After a minute we finally stop giggling and sit back in our chairs. 

"The last time we've fought like that was a while ago," I say.

Raven snorts. "Get real, Charles, it was last week. I drank your tea when you were busy ranting about the apocryphal genetics article in the newspaper so you beat me up like a four year old."

"I do recall you bit me. And I'm the four year old?"

Raven just shakes her head and we turn to face the rest of the room. I happily note the level of comfort in the room, the ease at which everyone smiles at each other and makes fun of each other. I love each and every one of them and I know they love me. 

It's in this moment, the moment in which I'm enamored with these friends, my friends, that I decide I want to form a school, and teach. Teach gifted people like us how to love, how to be loved, how to use them as gifts and not as curses. To bring in people who aren't like us and teach them about genetics and show them they can be as wonderful and as human as Moira one day. Teach them how to be human and everything but and all the beautiful things in between. My heart swells with pride, and as the discussion turns to the battle, the somberness never leaves the room, but neither does our hope.

I wish it could stay this way, but I know it won't.

It weighs on me as precariously as the loose chandelier above my head. Any moment it could come crashing down. But it won't.

Not with Erik holding it up.


	7. Chapter Seven

That night I play Scrabble with Hank under the dim light of an old lantern, the weight of it all nearly unbearable, but it's nice anyway. It's always nice to win. 

"Charles, there's no way that's a real word."

"Oh, but it is. You just don't want me to get triple word with both a 'z' and a 'q.'" I adjust the last tile on the board and look up at him from my position on the floor. He's sitting cross-legged, gnawing on his lips and narrowing his eyes at the board. 

"Fine. Define it."

"A form of paper currency throughout Guatemala. Quezal," I say smugly, scribbling down my now ridiculous score on the paper by my elbow. 

"That's a proper noun!" he sputters.

"Just like 'dollar' and 'pennies' are proper nouns, right?"

Hank ruffles his hair in indignation, then slows, a wry grin spreading across his face. "As Sean or Alex might say, whatever, and up yours, old man." He places an 's' on the end of  my word, securing no less than what I calculate to be forty points thanks to the capriciously strategic location of his tile. I slam my pen on the score card.

"That's absolutely ridiculous. I'm not writing that down," I huff, shoving the paper over at Hank, who's now cackling.

"Maybe if you weren't so cocky about it you might've thought about the beauty of the plural prefix."

I raise my voice a few pitches and repeat what he just said in a mocking voice, then quickly meld into laughter.

"Whatever," I say in my greatest American accent, pushing myself up into a sitting position. 

"How many of us do you think are out there?" he says suddenly. I look up at him, but he's rubbing a letter 'E' between his fingers absently. Of all the questions to ask. Of course he would. Of course Hank. I smile.

"More than we might think."

"Ah."

I tap my knuckle on the lantern and scratch my head, thinking. "Have you ever thought about leaving here, Hank? Starting your own life, whether it be in hiding or not hidden at all? Become the world's best mutant doctor?"

Hank looks up from the board. "No, not really." I feel sad for a moment, but he grins. "The world's second best mutant doctor, yeah, sure. But the best has been around for a while now."

As if the spark from the lantern passed through my knuckles and through every part of me, I'm warm from head to toe. Tears spring into my eyes, and I let them stay there, like the idiot I am, crying in front of the boy.

"I really..." My words get caught in my throat. I swallow and try again, fighting to keep my voice even. "I really don't want anything to happen to any of you." A tear spills down my cheek. "There's so much out there for you," I whisper.

"I know. We know. Don't think we don't," he says in a quiet, consoling voice. "But we get to earn all of that. Maybe it's psychotic, masochistic to think that way, but we get to earn our futures."

"I know," I choke. "But I don't want you to lose them." I am too used to losing people. Too used to it being my fault. 

"Charles," Hank says slowly. "You want us to stay, don't you? We...um, well. We didn't go to bed last night when you told us. We tried to eavesdrop on the meeting but it didn't really work." He looks at me, waiting for me to explode. I sniffle instead, silently urging him on. I would've done the same thing. "Anyway, we...well, we heard you and Erik walking back from the dining room. Talking about a school."

My throat runs dry. "No, Hank, please. I don't want any of you to stay here, I don't want to weigh any of you down, or force any of you to do-"

"Charles, wait-"

"Don't feel obligated, that's ridiculous. I was just proposing a silly idea, that's all. I don't want you to-"

"Professor. Hey. You know what we did a week ago, when it was raining and we were stuck inside?"

I jam my lips together, feeling stupid. I shake my head. 

"We fought over who's room was whose. Permanately. Sean nearly defenestrated Alex for the east wing room. Bobby wanted to trade rooms with me, and I said fine, his was closer to the lab anyway. We did it because we can't imagine going anywhere else. This is more a home to me than any place I've ever been. Don't you get it? Our parents don't want us. Society barely does. We have to prove ourselves to them." He looks at me but I stay silent. "What better way to harness our powers than to stay here and learn from the best? I mean, a school where we learn about genetics and neurology and psychology in a building with living specimens and a lab beneath my feet? That's my dream come true."

He gets a choked laugh from me.

"Maybe no one else would like that stuff, but still. We get to beat the shit out of each other in the Danger Room. Think of the other people we could recruit. Think of the other kids you could save from a tragic childhood, like you saved us. That's what you did, Professor. You saved us. You taught us how to be the best versions of ourselves. If I'm ever going to leave here, it would be someone dragging me out by my ankles, kicking and screaming. Or going on a tour and explaining the benefits of a harmonious society between mutants and humans. Or kicking bad guy ass, I don't know."

I press my bangs down onto my forehead, grinning like a fool. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you."

Hank sits back, satisfied. "I didn't really do much. I think we owe you a thanks. Anyway, I think this just secured me the win. Sorry, Charlie."

Hank takes the last six tiles and spells out 'victory,' securing the win indeed.

"Learn to spell. Then I'll sit for your classes."

My good boy Hank.

Perhaps I'm being overly sentimental. Actually, I know I am. And excessively and preemptively morbid. Well, it's not that I thought any of us were going to get killed. I hope desperately even Shaw wouldn't be so cruel to kill innocent children. Really, I'm acting like this because in the face of great adversity, it's nice to know everyone loves each other. 

Erik would beat me up for thinking so fluffy.

But it's the undeniable truth, I realize as I knock on their door and walk in to find Peter and Kurt talking to each other, and I lean on the doorframe and talk to them, and listen to them talk about their families, their girlfriends, their lives back home, their lives on the run together. How proud they are of how far they've come. They ask various questions, things they weren't around in the beginning to hear, when I talked everyone's ears off about genetics and mutations. I try not to ramble too much, but God knows my judgement of how much I'm babbling is much higher than everyone else's. But they listen intently, asking me to make them think of a certain thing, or make them remember something they'd thought they'd forgotten, or send them telepathic messages.

It was a bit of a mushroom moment. I felt like Dad.

I move on to play pool with Alex and Sean and Erik, losing terribly. Tonight isn't my night, I guess. 

"Do you have any sense of coordination at all?"

I jab Sean with my pool stick. He makes a joke about pointy sticks. I forgot it nearly the second he said it, but I wish I could remember it. 

Sean's too funny to have his jokes be forgotten.

Alex too loyal to ever think he's alone. I give them both a squeeze on the shoulder, restraining myself from showing them what I really mean by the gesture, hoping they gather it at least a little bit themselves. 

"I'll beat you next time," I say. Sean and Alex exchange knowing glances. 

"Of course, Professor."

I ask Erik why everyone's calling me that all of a sudden as we walk down the hallway together. He shrugs. "You're their mentor. They respect you. Don't you like being Charles and Professor?"

I think for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I do." And I do.

He leaves to go get coffee. I love how simple everything is. For all we know the world is falling apart around us and we're still here, the only humans alive, drinking coffee and losing Scrabble. 

Ironic.

I find Bobby writing at his desk that he'd moved from one side of the room up to the window, glancing up in deep thought at the starry sky and then back to his paper. I loudly knock on the door, and he turns with a start. "Oh, hey Prof." He blushes a bit. "Bored?"

I snort. "Yes, even I get bored, Bobby. May I ask what you're writing?"

He shoots a backward glance at his paper. "Ahhh..." I start to tell him it's fine, but he waves me off. "I'm hoping that maybe a letter to my girlfriend might get her to see things from my point of view, you know?  She thinks I'm a psychopath and a Yeti, and I'm trying to figure out how to explain that I have no psychopathic tendencies whatsoever, and that's such a ridiculous proposal."

I chuckle. "Hm, maybe, 'I may be furry and cold and abominable on the outside, but inside, I'm warm for you?'" 

Bobby throws his head back with a grin. "Perfect, let me get that down."

"This isn't a jail, you know. You can leave when you'd like. Take a car, if you need to."

Bobby swivels around in the chair. "Are you kidding me? I love it here. And sometimes I loved it there, too." He falls quiet for a minute. "But I know I love it here. I mean, it's okay to stay, right?"

I nod fervently. He smiles, mostly to himself. I tell him goodnight and leave, walking briskly by Moira's room with a haphazard 'night, Moira,' only to be stopped as she flings herself across the room and into my arms, slamming us both into the wall of the hallway. We whisper some bullshit reassurances to each other and hug harder every second.

She draws away, sniffling. "Look, this is stupid timing, I know, but I'm not a poet, alright?" I pull a wet strand of hair out her mouth and tuck it behind her ear, watching her warm eyes shine through her tears. "But I love you, okay? I love you, Charles Xavier."

My heart, my stomach, my veins twist all at once with pain and a tinge of what I used to feel for her. But I still love Moira, I still can love her. "I lo-"

She shoves her palms into my chest with the expertise of a trained authority, knocking the breath out of me just right. "Don't you dare, don't you dare," she sobs.

She pulls me into a heart-crushing hug. "Tell him," she whispers. "Don't tell me."

"Tell him."

And in a flash of brown hair and tears, she's back behind a closed door, gone. 

My feet pound down the hallway with conviction. As selfless as Moira, as good-humored as Sean, as strong as Erik, as faithful as Alex, as innocent as Bobby, as true as Raven, kind as Peter, open-minded as Kurt, clever as Hank-

What could ever defeat things like that?

I wish the answer were nothing.

I spend the last hour before bed dancing with Raven. We never really grew up, not really. It used to be vinyl records and cheesy swing music, swinging around like fools in our pajamas before we had set a mature, scheduled bed time. We moved onto cassettes as teenagers, listening to the same rebellious music the BBC was broadcasting over to the Resistance in Germany, shouting in pride and wearing my stepfather's British flags as capes, reenacting the Battle of the Bulge, Raven melding into both Winston Churchill and Hitler and performing hilarious dialogue scenes between the two.

And here we are again, swirling around the room in a blaze of color and wild emotions and the future and the past. I pick her up and throw her onto the bed, and we jump up and down, just like our mums told us we couldn't. 

Breathless and weightless, we bear hug each other goodnight and I glide down the hallway to Kitty's room. I lie in bed with her for a few moments and she curls up on my chest, singing herself a lullaby she heard on television once, and I set my dignity aflame and join in, the stars outside her window a dizzying blur, dancing to their own song, or  maybe Kitty's song. 

I tell her 'I love you,' because really, everyone should hear that, and I make a silent promise to Moira to tell her tomorrow. 

I finally collapse into my own bed, drained of energy yet inexplicably filled, and fall into a deep, quiet sleep.

***

I haven't used an alarm in ages. It wakes me with a shrill howl, initial fear ripping through my chest and bolting me upright, before settling into something much deeper, something dark and gutted in the pit of my stomach. Something worse than fear. 

My first thought is the plan. We have a plan, stick to the plan. I've always been organized. Plans are good. Go downstairs, find Moira.

My feet gain their own essences and carry me about the room in a much more somber blur than the way we danced last night. Soon I'm wearing the ridiculous yet undeniably wicked cool yellow and blue uniform, clipping the straps together with shaking fingers, nicking my knuckles in the process. I welcome the pain and the focus it brings. 

Why is it I can control everyone else's mind but barely manage my own?

I jog down the spiraling steps and turn the corner to find Moira staring out at the pregnant yellow glow of the sun just starting to peek over the horizon, gnawing on her lip and clenching a piece of paper like it's her lifeline.

I try to imagine myself as soundless and graceful as Erik, but I trip over the dog and slam my hip into the corner of the counter, fighting not to cry out even though it feels like I've been shot.

"Ow," I whisper to myself, and pet Henry angrily with my foot. 

"Are you alright?" Moira asks, laughing quietly, virtually humorlessly.

"Acclimating to the conditions of the future, that's all. Did you get the information?" I ask, gently pulling the piece of paper out of her tight grasp. Her fingers unclench with great reluctance and shake uncontrollably, grasping to the ghost of the paper she'd been holding moments before, desperate to hold onto something solid, something steady. She nods, eyes searching my face, no doubt for fear. 

Now I force myself to match Erik. I blink at her, tilt my head. "Something wrong?" She shakes her head, rubbing the back of her hand on my arm unconsciously. 

She looks at me, curious. I feel the urge to say something to her, something I was supposed to remember, something...my mind is so abuzz with the plan and the fear of the oncoming storm that I can't remember.

"It'll be all right," is all I can think to say, which is stupid and we both know it, but aren't I allowed to be stupid sometimes?

I unfurl the paper. Early this morning, Moira had set out to confront one of her street sources to see if he'd heard or seen anything about the Brotherhood. It's pathetic that we had to defer to the homeless network as opposed to the federal authorities, but unfortunately the former is a much more empathetic connection than the latter.

"Seen down by the harbor, right off of Irvington," I read. Moira finally speaks. 

"Does that mean something to you? Can we find the harbor easily?"

I nod. "We could be there within twenty minutes. Well, thirty. We need to wake up the kids now." We avert our gazes from each other. She leaves first, and I hear her stepping lightly up the stairs. Still something tugs at the back of my mind, but I ignore it, annoyed. Now's not the time.

Moira wakes up Bobby and Raven and Hank, and I wake up Alex, Sean, Kurt, and Peter, stopping in Kitty's room to whisper to her while she's still half asleep and explain how we'll be back soon. I linger there a couple moments too long, wishing she'd wake up and give me a hug or a kiss, but she's too tired, and just gives a small smile and a yawn, and drifts back off. I'd be back soon anyway.

While Moira and I got the kids ready, Erik and Logan procured my dad's old trucks from the garage behind the lab and drive them to the front. Jean and Scott went to set off a pile of Sean's firecrackers in a 24/7 convenience store, diverting at least a few police dispatches over there. Ororo is outside doing her best to make favorable weather conditions.

There's an awkward silence as we all cram around the breakfast table, practically sitting on top of each other in both a lack of space and desperate need to touch and feel comforted. Erik and Logan join us, Erik standing as steady as ever next to me. We wait for Scott and Jean.

It doesn't take much longer. Just like according to plan. 

We jam both comfortably and uncomfortably into the two cars and set off, heading toward our predetermined destination one block away from the harbor set into the Hudson River. 

In my hometown, of all places. 

It sickens me how orchestrated it all is. That's what Erik says bothered him the most. It's not like the Nazis just blew a couple peoples' heads off point blank. They chose the Jews. They even chose children who'd yet to do anything wrong. They split up families. Made mothers choose a child to let live. Made them stand in lines and strip off their clothes and their dignity and their hair and let them know they were going to die and let them stand there, naked and cold, knowing they were going to die.

I try and brush the thought off. We aren't anything like the Nazis. We are fighting with a purpose. 

_Do you think this is inevitable, Erik? Do you think, if we weren't the ones to do it, someone else would've? Do you think there are other mutant families in other places?_

Erik doesn't even blink as I push into his mind. We share our fear in a quiet space in between reality and that someplace else for a moment. He taps the toe of his boot against mine. A minute gesture, but immensely consoling all the same.

_I'm sure there are mutants everywhere banding together for the very same purpose, Charles. One day we'll find them. One day, maybe, the world will let us find each other._

_I'm so scared, Erik._

Now his knee touches mine.

_I am, too._

I grip his hand, suddenly. I try to let go. I can't. The chandelier is hanging on by a thread, I hear the screeching of metal against metal, the weight of it pressing down on me, the pain as it shatters, slices through me, my head going first, my own thoughts...

He grips back, and Alex sees. He looks at us through the mirror as Erik drives, placid, a determined calm set on his face as he meets my gaze, then looks away, unfazed.

We pull to a stop and get out. It's kind of a blur, walking down to the harbor, the chill of the morning air against the lake, the water slapping lazily against the wharves, pounding in syncopation with my heart. 

It's so funny how humans imagine things. I say humans. We. It's funny how we imagine things. No matter where we come from, no matter what our upbringings, our past traumatic experiences, our favorite memories. Whether we've got mutant genes humming within us or not. We all love to imagine how things are, twisting our own memories, hoping for a better future, always hoping. 

I'd hoped we'd all get out of there alive.

That was silly, I think to myself as I lay here now. And a complete lie. 

I'd hoped the kids would get out and have a better future ahead of them.

How silly of me to imagine. I hate my mind, d'you know that? Look where it's gotten me now, my silly hope and my stupid imagination. 

Though I'd be lying if I said I'd want it any other way.

I loved the way Erik stopped us right before we got to the docks, the unmistakeable sillhoute of Shaw on his yacht in the distance, the golden sun outlining his frame in a soft yellow. I loved the way he turned, and looked right at me, because only I'd understand. And he knew I'd hate him for it, and argue with him, but he asked me anyway. 

I guess that's why I gave him that bloody jacket. 

"I have to go first. Please. I know we didn't plan for this, but let me go first. He won't kill me right away. I'll go, distract them, and you come in from behind and attack. Please. Charles." His dark eyes found mine. 

"I want to go with you," I said, stupid as always. Erik smiled at this, shaking his head.

"Of course you do. But that would be stupid, and we don't like stupid, Charles." He stood there, waiting for my consent. Waiting, because Erik was no longer a bloodhound set on his own cruel master, but a friend.

I remembered words, two words, and then three words.

_"Tell him."_

_I love you._

And I wanted to say them, so naturally, I couldn't. And instead I stripped off my leather jacket like the British slut I am, and shoved it onto him, ignoring his protests. 

"It's black. It'll give you at least a small amount of cover before you move out of the shadows near Shaw's boat. Just  take it," I said. Erik slid it on. It looked magnificent. So did he, with the way the sun formed a halo around his dark black hair, the way his jaw set as he looked proudly on his kids and his best friend. Me.

Tell him.

"I told my dad I wouldn't take that off until the day I died, Erik." 

Oh, how we imagine, how we imagine. Stupid, stupid humans.

"Do you know what that means?"

Tell him. I love you. The world can be better. The world will be better. 

Erik tilted his head. I try to recall him doing that now, but it's swimming out of focus. 

Tell him. 

And then it happened, quickly, without a tinge of glamour or horror. Azazel came up silently behind me with that wonderful, deadly curse of his, and stuck his tail through my chest, just like that. To think this morning I'd been moaning about my hip banging into the counter. 

I really tried not to look down at the gaping hole in my chest as I fell quickly, slowly, infinitely, gracelessly, onto my ass, onto my back.

I looked down at where my heart should be. I was really scared to see that hole in my chest, because, you know, I'm human, and we don't like blood, and God, wow, I should never be a doctor, I would faint incessantly-but I guess I'll never get the chance to be a doctor, at least hank can, if they win...how could I have lost so soon? Not now, oh God, I'm dying, not me...

No. Not anyone else. Just me.

My vision started to swim and warm blood spilled from my lips. I couldn't really hear anything, maybe I was moaning. I should probably stop, it wasn't doing anything...I don't want to look down, just don't look at it-

I looked down, down at where my heart should be, where my chest should be, where my very essence should be, but all I saw was Erik's hand, steady on my chest, holding the last of me together.

Erik.

Tell him.

I black out.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Needless to say, I woke back up to the sound of Raven racking her body with sobs and manic shrieks. Part of me wishes I hadn't, because it was all so bloody painful. Would she stop screaming? Believe it or not, Raven, screaming can't actually wake the dead...

That was funny. I wish I could share that with her, but my body is betraying me. I start to cry because of that. Erik starts to sob, pounding his forehead into my chest, falling apart at his fragile seams, and I can't bear to watch, can't bear to watch him fall apart all over again, just after I'd fixed him...

"It's not easy to love a telepath, you know," I choke, blood spilling over onto my lips. Erik just grips my hand tighter, sobbing, sobbing, shaking, so far gone with his tears I wonder if he even hears me. He tries to say something, and either I can't focus on it enough to hear it or his sobs cover his words. I sloppily take hold of his mind, and he grabs as strongly to my thoughts as we once held on to each other, our beliefs... 

Oh, God, I'm getting sappy in the face of death.

_It's not easy to love a metalbender. But you did, you did, you did when no one else would...and I love you, I love you more than anything, Jesus Christ, don't you dare leave me, don't you dare you beautiful British idiot...stop, stop..._

His pain, stronger than any other time I'd tapped into his mind and shared his sorrows, is almost unbearable, almost not worth clinging on and sharing, losing myself in the physical and existential ache...

Almost. 

To love is to be broken, over and over again, until someone comes along, brave enough to pick up those pieces of glass so no one else hurts themselves, loving enough to piece those shards back together until the glass can hold itself together again. Then the glass becomes useful, beautiful, even, something someone could look through, and see a reflection of themselves in it, something worth loving. It is undeniably human.

The universal anomaly. The hardest truth of them all. I'm human, of course. We all are. But even my gifts don't exempt me from pain, from anger, from love, from loss. This pain, this love, this ache and this warmth will never be a mutation, something so existentially human it's nearly otherworldly but simply something that keeps us grounded in the beautifully flawed world we live in. No, not a mutation, not even close. Something much better than that. Being human.

Human and proud. I smile.

Our thoughts become one, but it's not confusing, as it was before. It's painful. Comforting.

_You're lucky my death wasn't quick and painless, aren't you, Lehnsherr? Would've been...gone, gone, would've..._

I arch my back in pain, unable to stifle a loud and disturbing cry. I try not to focus my gaze on the children, who are now circled around Erik. 

_Please, please tell them...tell them I love...I love them so much...they have so much to offer the world, don't let them stop..._

He nods again and again, a blurry whirl of blue eyes and a cracked mirror. I try to talk, try to jam everything I've been meaning to tell them forever into the next minute, but my lungs are getting smaller and smaller, the pain bigger and bigger, darkness...

I start to claw for last words, desperate to make my mark, to let every know how funny, how beautiful, how smart, how loved they are. How terribly, terribly afraid I am.

I do not want to go. I do not want to leave this horrible, wonderful world. 

I start to sob, and everyone follows in my wake.

_I'd say don't cry, but no one ever listens to me._

My heart gives a strong, frantic jump as Erik's laughter fills me for the last time. 

"How dare you," he chokes. I tell him to keep smiling. He does.

"Making me laugh and fall further in love with you even as you slip away. That's not fair. That's not fair."

I give his hand a strong squeeze, and he comes in close, burying his face in mine, shaking me with love and terror and the most human urge to be somewhere in between. 

"I'll tell them," he says.

His hug crushes me further, suffocating me, but if there were a way to go out, this would be it. To die with Erik Lehnsherr is to live, if just a moment longer.

_I'm lucky. Not many people die unexpectedly surrounded by their loved ones. Except Frodo Baggins, but he's fictional. I'm as real as it gets._

Erik chokes on his own mucus with strangled laughter, whispering weak sobs, kissing me, shaking me, as if any of these small things could bring me back.

Ah. But isn't it the small things that fix us in the first place?

Small hugs with a blue girl on a bed where a small, tortured boy used to cry, alone. A hair-raising spin in an old Mustang with a boy who used to think he had nothing more to offer than a wild car ride. Ridiculously complex Scrabble games with a future doctor, snowball fights with the ice man, the funniest awful puns told by the funniest boy in the world, teaching my little girl to read, falling in love again and again, in so many different ways. Being loved. Oh, I am loved, how I am loved.

I try to cut out the pain for Erik, so we can share thoughts without him feeling the physical wound. We descend into a kind of madness that only love can bring. I scramble for last words, hidden somewhere in the slew of memories, the cries of I-love-yous and not you, oh please, not now, not Charles...

Don't forget me. That's easy, I don't want them to forget the good things we've done together...but no. They never will, as I'll never forget them. I know that. Besides, it's corny, I can't be...can't be...

Stay golden? No, that's from  a book, what book...oh God, here it goes, my brain, my gift, my heart...

Erik pulls me back as waves of black wash over me, and I fight, I fight like Erik, like my kids, fight a different fight than the one they must fight after I leave...

_We'll be a family, we'll stay together, we'll love you and remember you and we do love you and you are such a good man, Charles, such a good friend, you're good, you're great, you're the best everything...I love you, I love you, I love you more than life itself..._

And I, of course, loved him more than life itself. How terribly ironic.

Of course. What more could I possibly say, what else could possibly ease their pain? Could anything even make them feel better? What else would the ones left behind by Death himself ever want to hear? 

The answer, of course, is nothing.

I watch Erik's eyes become the sky.

"I love you now, and I'll love you forever."

His blue eyes and their bright faces are the last thing I see as a wave of darkness washes over me, and my mind finally, gently lets go, and rests. I am gone, gone, gone...

And the world spun madly on.

 


End file.
